


Mass Effect: Infinite Regress

by CountingMagpies



Series: Mass Effect: Infinite Regress [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Adventure, F/F, Multi, Romance, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 86,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountingMagpies/pseuds/CountingMagpies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Novelisation of the Mass Effect trilogy, Part 1 of 3. It takes more than one person to save the galaxy, but it only takes one person to start a revolution. Told from the perspectives of Bioware's characters. Not strictly canon. Will feature a Liara romance somewhere down the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright position pertaining to Mass Effect is as detailed in the various copyright statements as set out in the series of Mass Effect gaming discs. This is a non-profit work of fiction and no copyright infringement(s) whatsoever or howsoever is intended by the contents herein. 
> 
> Factual information on the lore of the universe (stuff I haven’t bent or invented) is gleaned from the Mass Effect Wiki and the in-game codex across the trilogy (credit to the ME Wiki contributors and Mass Effect creators respectively).
> 
> Special thanks to the Mass Effect team at Bioware who kept us all hooked over the years and inspired our imaginations to keep their creation alive.
> 
> The following is a novelisation of the Mass Effect Trilogy, starting off with Mass Effect 1; it is not a short story and if you can’t be bothered to read a long novel; TURN BACK NOW. 
> 
> I originally started writing this for a relative who had no knowledge of the Mass Effect universe. Thus the novelisation assumes that the reader has no prior knowledge of the Mass Effect universe. After I failed to persuade them to try the games, I decided to run with this story anyway. It’s not my intention to patronise anyone with lore facts; many of you will be familiar with these but hopefully you might find yourself learning something new – I know I did during the research I carried out in order to write this story. The approach adopted educates the reader as the characters themselves learn and evolve.   
> In the beginning, I intended to stay as true to the canon as possible; I then decided to take some liberties that writing fanfiction affords. As such, I have drawn my own interpretations from what Bioware presented us with, and put my own spin on things. The story is not completely of the Alternative Universe brand, since it does follow the standard canon storyline (albeit with tweaks and additions). My aim is to deliver a story that is plausible and believable within the realms of canon we were given. I could be wrong about that. I will leave that up to you, the reader, to decide. Either way; it’s worth reminding everyone that Mass Effect is a role-playing game and as such there is not just one single and unique canon. I do not claim that anything I am presenting to you is canon. To reiterate: this story is a fictional novelisation of Mass Effect and is strictly a work of fanfiction.
> 
> I’ll be the first to admit that the dates (as in years) in my fic are somewhat suspect. I’ve had discussions with people on the BSN who have pointed out that the years presented to us in the games are technically ‘Terran’ (Earth) years. However, I’ve pretty much attributed everything to the Council Era (‘CE’) to make things more convenient (i.e. to make life easier for myself!). Hopefully this is not immersion-breaking in any way. If anyone has a problem with this or is able to shed any further light upon the correct calendar, feel free to send me a PM and I will look into changing it. I myself am further researching the dating issue and in the future I may make some updates, or modifications.

**Chapter 1 - Prologue **

 

**The Citadel, Serpent Nebula (Widow System); April (Terran Calendar) 2183 (Council Era)**

David Anderson groaned in clear protest when the buzzer of his personal communicator sounded right next to his ear. Rolling onto his other side and wrapping his arms around his head proved futile against the incessant humming grating on his increasingly shortening temper. Was it him or was the tone getting progressively louder?

Flailing an arm to bat the nuisance away from him, he sat up and cursed when he knocked over the glass of water on his bedside table – a shame it wasn’t enough to destroy the piece of technology that had ruined the first decent night’s sleep he’d had all week.

“All right,” he muttered aloud, conceding defeat. “All right!” Snatching up the damn thing, he squinted at the illuminated interface and muttered another curse. It looked like he would have to forgo sleep for yet another night; duty called. Peeling back the covers, he grabbed his shaver and headed straight to the en-suite bathroom.

His grooming routine was shorter than he would’ve liked, and he had to postpone his usual ten kilometre stint on the treadmill. Come to think of it, he’d stopped living his own life several years ago. Perhaps that was what being a hero was all about; living for others. He was a highly-decorated officer in the Alliance navy; he was divorced with two sons who probably didn’t even see him as much of a father. He’d had no real opportunity to lay down roots anywhere; he went where the Human Systems Alliance told him to go; he shook whoever’s hand they told him to shake; he smiled at whoever they told him to smile at.

He wore his customary well-rehearsed smile that morning as he passed a dozen different species of aliens on his way through the space station. Some were bipeds, like himself. Some weren’t; some had more than two eyes; some had only three fingers on each hand – if you could call them hands.

Anderson shook his head; on his first visit to the Citadel twenty years ago, he’d have been within his right to be disturbed. Now he should have been used to the diversity. But there were just some things in this galaxy you never got used to, no matter how much it was thrust in your face.

The Citadel, as the station was called, was home to a staggering 13.2 million residents hailing from all corners of the Milky Way (and that wasn’t including the enigmatic ‘Keepers’ – the mute caretakers of the station who didn’t bother to interact with anybody else). This was probably a result of the fact that the station was placed advantageously at the intersection of numerous mass relays leading to various parts of the galaxy. With a shape reminiscent of a pentagram, the station consisted of a central ring 7.2 kilometres in diameter, from which five ‘arms’ extended – each one was 43.6 kilometres long and 330 metres wide.

In times of emergency, the station could be retracted into an impenetrable cylinder. It was no wonder that the construct had a gross weight of 7.11 million metric tonnes. Yet no one knew exactly what resilient material the station was built from, nor its precise age. The only thing people _did_ know was that the Citadel was built by the now-extinct Prothean race.

Anderson didn’t have time to speculate; in all his years as an officer, he had never been late when summoned by one of the Admirals. He may have been sleep-deprived and run-down, but he wouldn’t let that tarnish his spotless record.

 

* * *

 

The Alliance HQ on the Citadel was a small facility with essential staff only. Anderson had been crammed in the control room so often over the last couple of weeks that he had a distinct case of cabin fever. He looked forward to when the project he was currently overseeing was over so that he could leave the station and take a holiday on Earth – somewhere with open fields and fresh grass rather than stale, recycled air and sterile white bulkheads. He had been dreaming as much when he’d been cruelly wrenched from his warm bed earlier that morning. He wasn’t one to complain, especially not since Admiral Steven Hackett was striding purposefully toward him.

Admiral Hackett – now _there_ was a sight to behold. The admiral was grizzly and silver-haired; he had as many scars as people he had killed. But the man was a living legend, and a damn good poker player.

“Captain,” the admiral immediately grasped his hand in a firm handshake. “Sorry about the early wake-up call; time and tide wait for no man. A situation’s come up, and I need my best people at hand.”

Anderson was flattered. “Yes, sir; I’m game.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hackett clapped his shoulder. “Because, for now, this is strictly classified information. We’re at Defcon Three as of a few hours ago.”

Anderson didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “What prompted the alert, sir?”

“Follow me and I’ll show you.”

The moment the admiral turned, the crowds of personnel seemed to migrate. Anderson took advantage of the chance to catch some breathing room as he stepped after Hackett who filled him in on the way to his office.

“At around O-three hundred hours Alliance time, we received a priority message from our colony on Eden Prime. Apparently a team of archaeologists there have found something. Something big.” Hackett ushered him inside and closed the door before he voiced the last crucial information: “Someone called Dr Warren claims that it’s Prothean.”

Prothean: the builders of the mass relays and the Citadel. All contemporary civilisations owed their membership in the galactic community to the Protheans. In 2148, the discovery of a Prothean data cache on Mars had led to the development of FTL (faster-than-light) travel; not to mention it had revealed that the unclassifiable structure orbiting Pluto was in fact a dormant mass relay – a device that could sling-shot objects across vast distances to another mass relay – a gateway to the rest of the universe.

Leftover technology from the extinct Protheans had allowed aliens to leave their homes and come together in a larger multi-species community – a community humanity had ‘officially’ been a part of since 2165, upon the allocation of an embassy on the Citadel.

But the mass relays had also posed significant threats too; some people had worried about the dangers that might be let in if a dormant mass relay were to be activated. In the end, the gains had outweighed the risks.

Every species’ exodus story was the same: the discovery of Prothean technology which had enlightened and uplifted them.

The ramifications of this particular discovery were immense. There was no telling what the artefact was – a weapons platform; another cache of knowledge that could include medical breakthroughs... The possibilities were endless.

The Citadel Council – the heart of galactic law and community – had strict conventions citing that all Prothean discoveries must be declared and shared. Humanity was very much the new kid on the block in the galactic community; they were hardly in a position to have trained their own Prothean experts, whereas the other species had had hundreds; even thousands of years to learn about the Protheans.

Anderson considered himself a practical man; and the truth was that they were in over their heads. They _needed_ help.

His colleagues may not like the idea of submitting to the superiority of aliens in this instance, but they had little choice. If they kept the discovery secret and got found out, the Council would not only ban their embassy; but they could declare war on humanity too. Anderson was damned if he would let that happen; humanity had come too far and bled too much to lose everything now.

Their relationship with the other species may have been tentative at best, but at least it was progress in the right direction. No one species could survive in the galaxy alone – as the batarians and quarians were learning the hard way (both species had had their embassies revoked for committing severe transgressions against Council law). Of course there were those human supremacists who believed that humanity should go it alone. That wasn’t an option. What many seemed to forget was that if the Council – a panel of alien representatives – hadn’t intervened and ended the First Contact War; humanity may well have been wiped out barely after sticking its toe in the waters. Now, at least, they had a foothold.

“We need to inform the Council,” Anderson broached the topic evenly, putting his game face on. He knew that he commanded a great deal of respect among his colleagues; he just hoped that it was enough to make them listen to reason. The Human Systems Alliance had suffered heavy casualties against the turians in the First Contact War, and the Turian Hierarchy had the strongest military in the galaxy. There was no way that the Alliance could afford open war with _all three_ Council races – the asari, the salarians _and_ the turians.

Admiral Hackett nodded soberly. “I thought you were going to say that, Captain. The reason I called you here is because you have experience with the Council that no one else has.”

Anderson felt an involuntary twinge of anger when he thought back to the last time that he had been granted an audience with the Council. He had let humanity down by failing to get accepted into the prestigious Spectres – the Council’s own private law enforcement agents, of sorts (the kind that weren’t subject to any law or authority apart from the Council itself). Worse still; it had been a turian Spectre who had sabotaged him. But that was all in the past.

“The Council is fair.” _If naive_ , he thought to himself. “I think that if we show them that we’re cooperating, it might earn us a few brownie points.”

Hackett sank down into a chair and gestured for Anderson to do the same. “I’ve never been an ass-licker, David.”

“No, sir,” Anderson said quickly. Hackett had been a leader of armies during the First Contact War whereas Anderson had just been a grunt, surviving enough to make a name for himself. “But, with all due respect; life is about give and take. The other species think that we’re arrogant and impatient. I say we prove them wrong.”

Hackett saw the potential wisdom in his words. “Alright, Captain. Let’s say we do it your way; are you willing to deal with the politicians?”

“I’m used to it, sir.” Anderson’s entire schedule during his current project had been to shake hands with turian and human diplomats and emissaries. ‘Mutual cooperation to attain a common goal’ was a phrase tossed about with alarming frequency; so much so that it had been permanently drummed into his skull.

Hackett looked him over and grunted. “Don’t worry, Captain; you’ll be back on the frontlines where you belong soon enough. There’s no telling what this discovery could lead to. I’m sure that the Council will put their hands – claws, paws, tentacles, whatever – all over it. But remember; we found it first. We’re playing a part in all this whether they like it or not. Be sure to make the Council understand that. Ambassador Udina will be there; he’ll do most of the talking. But he’s a politician, so just make sure to keep him in line.”

“Will do, sir.” Anderson paused. “I don’t know how long the Council will take to come to a decision about something like this. Those archaeologists will have to sit tight. Who’ve we got stationed on Eden Prime?”

“The Two-twelve,” Admiral Hackett replied automatically; he was privy to fleet and troop placements. “Under the leadership of one Gunnery-Chief Ashley Williams.”

“Williams,” Anderson echoed. “Any relation to -?”

“She’s General Williams’s grand-daughter,” Hackett nodded.

General Williams was marked in history as the first human to surrender his garrison to alien forces. Though his actions had saved countless lives on both sides; many humans thought of him as a traitor. Unfortunately the Williams name had been tarnished with that reputation ever since.

Anderson had to wonder about this Ashley Williams – a soldier he’d never met. One thing he could be certain of was that she’d had a hard career in the Alliance military; if she’d managed to survive that, she obviously had backbone and nerve. Anderson knew then; whatever the Prothean discovery was, it was safe with Ashley Williams to protect it. At least for now.

 

* * *

 

David Anderson was an easy-going, non-confrontational kind of man. He usually had good reason if he disliked someone. But Ambassador Donnel Udina just got on his nerves, and unfortunately Anderson had been spending a lot of time with him lately on the joint project the Alliance was conducting with the Turian Hierarchy. Specifically the project involved the construction of a space ship, combining the best of human ingenuity with turian engineering. If there was one good thing that the Alliance could say about their old turian rivals; it was that they knew a thing or two about warfare.

Under the Treaty of Farixen; the Turian Hierarchy also had the largest number of dreadnoughts. Their entire society was centred on military doctrine and discipline. The Hierarchy functioned as a meritocracy; from birth, a sense of civic duty and personal responsibility was instilled in every turian so that they would not abuse the system. There were no less than twenty-seven citizenship tiers, beginning with civilians (client races and children) and topped off by the Primarchs.

Turians entered compulsory military service at the age of fifteen (their lifespan was comparable to that of humans) – the second citizenship tier. Successful completion of ‘boot camp’ would promote them to the third tier. But every turian served the state in some capacity at least until they were thirty. With such strict ethics; their reputation of being rigid imperialists was thoroughly deserved.

Anderson knew that it was pointless to will the one thousand and forty-seven metre elevator ride up the Presidium Tower to go faster; in fact the long journey was arguably designed to let visitors stew in awe and anxiety in anticipation of coming before the grand Council.

The sooner Anderson could excuse himself from Udina’s company, the better.

 _I think a stiff drink is in order – never mind that it’s not even midday yet._ He couldn’t care less about Udina’s mutterings about being landed with a ‘military baboon’ in such a delicate an instance as meeting with the Citadel Council. Ironically, politics and warfare went hand-in-hand.

 

* * *

 

The lobby to the Council chambers was adorned with autumn-coloured trees and frothing water features. Anderson had never deigned to appreciate what felt artificial to him. Supposedly the architecture was all Prothean, though no one could really say for sure. If it turned out to be true, however; then Anderson thought that the Protheans had had terrible taste in domestic furnishing. But that wasn’t why he was here today.

 _‘Ass-licking the Council’_ was how Admiral Hackett had eloquently put it. As always, David Anderson was the pick for the sacrificial lamb. He wasn’t nervous about meeting with them again; he was more worried about what kind of tricks Ambassador Udina had up his sleeve. The new ambassador was a less-than-stellar replacement for old Ambassador Goyle who at least hadn’t had her head up her ass.

Still, today was all about compromises. It was Anderson’s job to get the Council’s help, and to get them to agree to let the Alliance take charge of the operation. Now that he thought about it; it was quite a tall order...

“Come on, Captain,” Udina’s insufferable voice interrupted his strategising process. “It won’t do to keep the Council waiting. Do you know how many backs I had to scratch to get them to grant us an audience at such short notice? But, of course; what Admiral Hackett wants, Admiral Hackett gets.” He started mumbling something insulting against the military but Anderson had long since stopped listening.

The decor may have been false, but the sight of dais on the far side framed by long windows of bright light never failed to take his breath away. The Council chamber was large and spacious – frugal in furnishings, but that was hardly the point. It was fitting for the three most powerful people in the galaxy to reside in such a majestic, grandiose niche one thousand and forty-seven metres above the rest of the Presidium and the five wards.

The Council – made up of one representative from each of the three Council races – was already waiting for them when Ambassador Udina and Captain Anderson climbed the steps up toward the dais.

Tevos, the asari, was stood in the middle of the trio. Her salarian colleague, Councillor Valern, stood on her left while the turian councillor, Sparatus, stood on her right.

“Captain Anderson,” the asari greeted him first; “welcome back. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Anderson bowed his head slightly out of respect, as he’d seen many of the species do.

A mono-sexed race; the asari were often hyped as the ‘wet dream’ of the galaxy. Out all the alien species Anderson had seen in the last twenty years; the asari shared many physiological similarities with human females. They had four fingers and a thumb on each hand; as well as a nose, two eyes and a pair of breasts. The differences, however, were just as striking. Asari were blue – they came in every shade of blue imaginable, ranging from teals to purples. They were also hairless and had what looked like tentacles (at least to him) on their heads.

Anderson had never found the asari attractive exactly (they were too alien for his personal tastes), but he could at least appreciate their sophistication and effortless sensuality. He’d heard many tales among the soldiers about their exotic liaisons with asari partners – apparently they were skilled sexual partners. Anderson was more than happy to take their word for it.

Fortunately, for professional reasons, Councillor Tevos defied the image of the stereotypical asari one could find shaking her naked backside in a strip joint down in the seediest crooks of the wards. Her high-necked, long-sleeved dress left everything to the imagination – and Anderson didn’t have any need to exercise fantasy in this case. Tevos was conservative and staid. Anderson wasn’t an encyclopaedia on xenobiology; but apparently the asari Councillor was centuries old – not that she looked it; in human terms she looked to be in her mid thirties.

The asari’s longevity was the reason the species was more comfortable with comprehensive surveillance and study rather than abrupt action whenever they encountered a new species or situation. They were typically a patient, diplomatic people.

Anderson knew for a fact that the turians took charge of military policy because the asari didn’t actually have their own national military force. They had no need to. The asari homeworld had neither crime, nor disease; and rather than go to war over their differences, the asari preferred to sit down and work out a consensus. That said; since the advent of space exploration, the asari had a notable naval fleet. The _Destiny Ascension_ was an asari dreadnought and the flagship of the Citadel Fleet.

The asari were actually the oldest race – the first race to develop space flight and discover the Citadel in 580 BCE (Before Council Era). They were respected by the other species for their intellectual superiority and experience; the asari had been responsible for inviting many advanced species into the galactic community and uplifting them. The asari were an economic powerhouse with extensive trade and social contacts. They also boasted craft guilds specialising in advanced biotic technologies the Alliance hoped to negotiate for.

Sixty years after the asari had colonised the Citadel, the salarians made first contact. The salarians were an odd bunch – distinctly alien. A species of haplo-diploid egg-layers; the salarians were amphibians with a short lifespan of only forty years. Their rapid metabolism meant that they only required one hour of sleep a day; they also had photographic memories and had the ability of psychological imprinting designed to help them identify their parents as young. Their talent for processing information quickly meant that the salarians were brainiacs – they made excellent scientists and spies.

Councillor Valern was a salarian male, which was a little strange since politics were usually left to the Dalatrasses (salarian females). Ninety percent of the salarian race was male; they handled business, academia and the military while the rare females handled the politics and reproductive contracts.

The turian was more common ground for Anderson; he’d fought toe-to-toe with them during the First Contact War. While their most distinguishing feature was their metallic carapace (a direct result of evolving on their homeworld); turians had distinct avian features. They were humanoid, standing at just over six feet tall; and had two thick fingers and an opposable thumb on each hand, each tipped with talons, in addition to a set of mandibles around their mouths and a crest of horns on their heads. Though they shared certain qualities with avian species; they certainly didn’t fly and they were viviparous (giving birth to live young). Turian voices also had a distinct flanging effect that Anderson remembered all-too-well.

Oblivious to his dark reflections of his past experience with turians, Ambassador Udina opened the proceedings.

“Thank you for receiving us at such short notice, Councillors.”

“Not at all,” Councillor Valern answered him; “You made it clear that the matter was urgent.”

“Yes,” Udina agreed. “As humanity’s representative to this Council, it is my duty to inform you that a human colony has come across a Prothean artefact.”

 _That_ got their attention.

“Prothean,” Tevos echoed. “Are you certain?”

“Well our scientists seem to think that it is.”

Valern leaned to murmur something in what must’ve been Tevos’s ear, and the asari nodded. “I assume that you’re here to put forth a proposal in exchange for declaring the Prothean artefact?”

Udina smiled thinly. “We are prepared to release the artefact to you under the condition that the Alliance be allowed to go to the colony and retrieve it.”

“Surely it doesn’t matter who retrieves it,” the salarian pointed out.

Anderson sighed; Ambassador Udina still had a lot to learn about the quirks and nuances of the Council the way his predecessor had known. “You’re right. What we’re proposing is a joint mission, Councillors. The Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy have just finished construction of the _Normandy_ – a ship that was built specifically for tactical reconnaissance missions. This would be her perfect maiden flight, as well as an opportunity to keep working together. The Alliance has very little knowledge about the Protheans; we can’t be a hundred percent sure what this artefact is...so we need your help. I’m guessing that you would assign a Spectre to retrieve the artefact. As captain of the _Normandy_ , I’m willing to accept that Spectre onboard my ship and cooperate with them.”

Sparatus’s mandibles flared as he considered the two humans. “An interesting proposal, Captain Anderson. Tell me; what does the Alliance hope to gain from this?”

Anderson felt the heat of three expectant pairs of alien gazes on him. “Well,” he began slowly, suddenly wishing that he’d had time to rehearse a speech (public speaking had never been one of his strong suits); “we’re a part of this community -”

“Exactly,” Ambassador Udina cut across him. “Humanity is willing to make contributions. We have proved that we can be trusted, that we’re ready for responsibility. Councillors, I would like to petition for a human candidate to be accepted into the Spectres.”

Anderson wanted to bury his face in his hands. What the _hell_ was Udina playing at? _Damn politicians._ Udina was using this audience with the Council as an excuse to air human interests – which wasn’t part of the deal. Their orders were to handle the Prothean artefact first and establish good favour with the Council; not railroad them with demands. The more Anderson got to know the ambassador; the more he realised that the word ‘subtlety’ didn’t exist in the man’s vocabulary.

“We’ve been down this road before,” Councillor Sparatus pointed out, turning his beady eyes to Captain Anderson.

“That was twenty years ago,” Anderson was determined not to lose face despite the hiccup. “The Alliance has learned a lot since then. We have many talented men and women who have been taught by a curriculum that has learned from my mistakes. All we need is a chance to prove how far we’ve come – to prove that we’re worthy of being a valuable member in this community. My people have made great gains thanks to the graciousness of this Council. Give us the chance to repay the favour. Make it a trial; we’ll gladly defer to your judgement if you evaluate our candidate and conclude that we’re not ready.”

Udina shot him a glare which Anderson ignored.

“Well said, Captain,” Councillor Tevos applauded him.

Anderson was on a roll. “Councillors, don’t we at least deserve another chance?”

“You deserve nothing,” Sparatus said flatly. “This Council owes you _nothing_ ; you must _earn_ what you get.”

Tevos and Valern looked at him in unison, surprised by his aggressiveness.

“I understand that, Councillor. So let us _earn_ a place in the Spectres. Our candidate will be on the mission to Eden Prime; your Spectre can evaluate them and report to you once we return to the Citadel with the artefact.”

“It seems that you’ve given the matter a great deal of thought,” Valern remarked, touching on the fact that Udina had played this whole meeting to focus on the issue of a human Spectre. “I take it that you already have a candidate in mind?”

“That’s right, Councillor,” Udina clasped his hands together.

Anderson looked at him; this was the first he’d heard of it – Admiral Hackett hadn’t mentioned anything to him.

“We need someone who embodies the best of humanity; a symbol of our future. The candidate I wish to submit is Staff-Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, a biotic.”

 _What?_ To say Anderson was furious was putting it mildly. Then again, the ambassador had completely digressed from the established program. _Damn politicians and their egos._ Anderson was seriously thinking how Udina must’ve been dropped on his head at birth. Human biotics were rare and were in an isolated minority, even persecuted by the average human citizen. It was out of the question; there was no way that the Alliance was ready to commit a biotic. Getting a human into the Spectres was a big achievement. One step at a time. _Don’t run before you can walk._ Anderson would gladly settle for a human – it would be an honour for a human to be accepted as they were, showcasing the rawest attributes of the human race without scientific meddling. Perhaps biotics _were_ the future, but that future was premature. Twenty years ago, humanity had pushed for a Spectre and had failed. If there was a lesson to be learned; it was patience.

“A biotic,” Councillor Tevos mused. Her species, the asari, were natural biotics. Element Zero, or ‘eezo’, was naturally-occurring on the asari’s home planet; hence they had evolved that way. For humans, the procedure was done via unnatural means.

A couple of decades ago, an accident had occurred whereby a cargo freighter had been destroyed over a human colony. Its cargo had ignited, showering the colony in eezo. The result on pregnant females was catastrophic; the foetuses had developed cancer, or were born with debilitating deformities. Only a very small percentage had been lucky enough to survive and, even then; only one in ten had actually displayed a potential for biotic abilities. Those select few humans had been rounded up for experimentation and training. They had been given implants to harness their abilities. It was true that humanity had made significant scientific advancements; but still their biotics were no match for, say, the asari.

So far the asari were the only natural biotic species. There were biotic individuals among other races, but they were special cases just like the humans.

“Is humanity ready for such a responsibility?” Tevos questioned; “Biotics must be trained to the highest standard.”

Anderson stifled a snort. Human biotics needed implants, amplifiers and a decade of training before they could even levitate a glass with their powers.

“Captain,” the salarian councillor addressed him directly; “is there something you wish to comment?”

Anderson recognised a lifeline when it was being handed to him. It was perhaps somewhat ironic; to the Alliance he was something of an unofficial ‘expert’ on the Citadel Council, and to the Citadel Council he was an unofficial ‘expert’ on the human military. He realised that there had never really been bad blood between him and the Council. Professionally he’d let a job go bad, but on a personal level the councillors seemed to cling to him for the simple reason of familiarity. They knew David Anderson; they would prefer to liaise with him over another human.

“I know I made a mistake in the past,” he spoke evenly, standing tall; “and I own that mistake – but...I hope that doesn’t compromise your respect of my integrity.”

“Go on,” Tevos encouraged him.

Anderson and Udina locked gazes. _If he can play dirty; so can I._ Hell, it was clear that Udina had already acted without Alliance jurisdiction. Anderson had nothing to lose.

“I have my own recommendation,” he admitted; “someone who’s no stranger to the hardships out there. She’s not a biotic, but she’s a fine soldier – a resourceful individual who’s seen the best and the worst the galaxy has to offer. She was born and raised in space; the galaxy is her home and I know she’d do anything to protect it.”

“To whom are you referring?” Valern squeaked.

“Lieutenant-Commander Shepard.”

“Shepard.” Sparatus stroked his mandible. “The human who single-handedly held out against batarian terrorists for twelve hours. A resourceful individual indeed,” he agreed. “The odds weren’t in her favour, and yet she persevered. An impressive show of courage and skill – for a human.”

Tevos looked troubled. “I understand that her father led a retaliatory attack against the batarians on Torfan...killing everyone – even those who had surrendered. I hope you know, Captain; that the asari do not condone such action.”

 _And he paid the price_ , thought Anderson grimly. “I understand that, Councillor; but should children be held accountable for their parents’ actions?” The case of Gunnery-Chief Ashley Williams briefly flashed into his mind. The kid was on Eden Prime right now; she had to hope that the colony avoided unwanted attention until help arrived.

“That is something we cannot judge,” Tevos admitted, looking to Sparatus. The turians would have no problem with blaming parents, co-workers and peers for the behaviour of an individual. Every species and culture was different. “But every sapient life form should have equal opportunity. Very well; we will need a few moments to deliberate.”

The councillors shared a hushed conversation among themselves while Udina simmered and Anderson had to contain a smirk. He couldn’t afford to get smug, not when he was this close... What a day it would be if he not only managed to convince the Council to let the Alliance handle the Prothean artefact, but also managed to get the Council to accept a human applicant for the Spectres. That stiff drink he had been planning would most certainly turn into a celebratory cocktail.

Tevos turned to speak to them (as the representative of the ‘founding’ race; she seemed to preside over these things more often than her colleagues). “We agreed twenty years ago that humanity had potential. Perhaps you are now ready to seize that potential. You are correct, Captain; the galaxy is built on second chances.” She paused for full effect of her words. “We find your proposal acceptable. Under the supervision of a Spectre, the Alliance will be allowed to handle the mission to Eden Prime. And, in the interest of fairness; we will assess both of your applicants.”

“Spectre Nihlus Kryik will accompany you to secure the Prothean artefact,” Councillor Valern informed them. “He will also assess Lieutenant Alenko and Commander Shepard to determine which – if either – is suitable to become a Spectre.”

“This meeting of the Council is adjourned,” Tevos announced, closing the debate before Udina could gawp at her. “Go in peace.”

Udina turned around slowly and scowled at him. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.”

“Oh, I do, Ambassador,” Anderson replied seriously. “Time for me to assemble my crew.”

 


	2. Mustering a Crew

** Chapter 2 **

 

**11 th April (Terran Calendar), 2183 (Council Era)**

Standing as a sentinel for the mass relay leading to Earth was a Stanford Torus-type space station named Arcturus. At five kilometres in diameter, the station was home to forty-five thousand permanent residents – including the Systems Alliance Parliament: the political heart of the human race. It was here that Admiral Steven Hackett usually presided over the Fifth Fleet (when his presence wasn’t required elsewhere in a diplomatic capacity); but the station served many diverse functions: political, military, space dock, shipyard and home.

Arcturus had rapidly been inaugurated in 2156 – six years ahead of scheduled completion – to serve as the Alliance military’s headquarters during the First Contact War. Humanity’s entrance onto the galactic stage hadn’t been without its fair share of dramas; indeed their curiosity had gotten them into trouble more than once. The turians had caught a human expedition trying to activate a dormant mass relay – a serious infraction by Council law – and had declared war on them. No matter what humanity tried to do to make amends; the other species would always see them as brash, impatient, violent and ignorant. But, most of all; the other species were _scared_ of humanity. It was difficult trying to get ahead in the galaxy with that kind of reputation. The turians saw them as rivals; the salarians thought they were dim-witted; and the asari treated them as bullies. Perhaps their opinions weren’t entirely unwarranted. Still, humanity was here to stay whether the aliens liked it or not.

The station was a buzzing hive of activity that morning, in anticipation of receiving a new ship into space-dock. Lieutenant-Commander Shepard went about her morning rituals as usual, strolling calmly down the corridors even as flustered technicians scurried past her. Apparently she was immune to the restless energy and excitement; all she had to look forward to was a double session of lecturing cadets in the N7 training program. After that, she had paperwork to catch up on. Tomorrow would hold the same monotony for her, and every day after that.

Winning the Star of Terra in the Skyllian Blitz seven years ago seemed like a whole other lifetime ago. She’d been a hotshot N7 marine with a bright career ahead of her. Now she was in her late twenties and stuck on Arcturus Station with a dead-end desk job, a friend with brittle bone disease, and spotty teenaged students who tried to hit on her.

Shepard sighed heavily – she was full of sighs that morning. A nagging voice inside her head reminded her that she had _chosen_ to settle for the quiet, uneventful life; that she had firmly _insisted_ she would not miss dodging bullets and courting death every day. She’d all but forgotten the weight of a hardsuit on her shoulders, or the way her hands had subconscious intimate knowledge of a rifle. Yes, a _rifle_ – never mind a woman.

“Hey, Shepard! Over here!”

Shaking off her wistful nostalgia, Shepard looked up and picked her friend out from the string of spectators lining the corridor to witness the grand arrival.

“I saved you a spot,” Joker grinned, waving her over.

“I’ve got a class to take,” Shepard muttered, wedging herself between marines and civilians alike.

“And I’ve got a report to submit to Admiral Kowalski. Bite me.”

Shepard didn’t bother to voice any further protests; she wouldn’t have been heard over the cheering and whistling as the docking lights started flashing, signalling the incoming ship.

“There she is. The _SSV Normandy_ – prototype deep scout frigate with state-of-the-art IES stealth technology, powered by the experimental Tantalus Drive Core.” Joker rubbed his hands together. “I can already imagine my hands stroking the conn. Come to me, baby.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Not you too. Jesus; it’s like a damn fever.” She cast a glare around at the others and lowered her voice to a hiss; “If I hear one more word about that stupid ship, I’m gonna slap someone.”

Joker looked taken-aback by her unwarranted hostility. “And a very Happy Birthday to you, L-C.”

Shepard’s nose wrinkled in revulsion at the reminder. “Yeah, thanks, Joker. So I’m twenty-nine; in one year I’ll be thirty – old and past it.”

Joker laughed and clapped her shoulder. “Cheer up. All that means is that it’s time to get off your ass and take action. And, hey; this time the magic carpet has come to _you_.”

Shepard followed his pointing finger to the viewport framing the gleaming bulkheads of the Alliance’s new frigate. She sighed again (she’d lost count). “Not another of your harebrained schemes, Joker. I’m getting too old for this, remember?”

“Oh, come on. You haven’t even heard my brilliant plan yet. The _Normandy_ ’s captain is an old friend of yours, right? I figure you can put in a good word for me – you know, since I _am_ the best pilot in the Alliance navy.”

“Enlighten me: why would I do that? I’ve got nothing to do with that ship, and Captain Anderson’s probably here to meet with the admirals.”

“Exactly; he’s putting a crew together – which means it’s feeding time at the zoo; which means you and I finally get our big break.” He pouted when he saw that Shepard’s expression was one of scepticism. “Come _on_. You can’t stay on this bucket forever. Look at it this way; we’ve got a much better chance of chasing tail out there than in here.”

Shepard rolled her eyes. “Just for the record; unlike you, I have no problems getting laid.”

“Uh-huh, right. So when is that ‘one’ woman going to come along and make an honest woman of you? ’Cause you know, you’re really starting to be the third nacelle; always raining on my parade.”

“I’m the only friend you have, Joker; remember? In fact I’m the closest thing to a girlfriend you’re ever going to get.”

“Ouch,” Joker pulled a playful frown; “we _are_ grumpy today. Is this what I have to look forward to next year? Scratch that. I’ll remember to send you a postcard from the other side of the galaxy – the side with adventure and beautiful women.”

Shepard pretended to consider it. “You’re right; I’m sure somewhere out there, some alien will be deluded enough to take pity on you – probably an asari, since they’ll hump anything; even a guy with brittle bones.”

Joker shook his head, too disgusted to even dignify her words with a response. “You know what? Forget it. You wanna stay here and rot, be my guest.” Without so much as giving her another look, he turned and limped away.

Shepard watched his progress and sighed heavily; she felt bad for being so cruel and thoughtless. Joker was her best friend; her faithful sidekick; her wingman. Shepard had spent her life in space, making her home on space stations and star-ships. Yet according to her academy instructor, she had lacked the necessary intuitions to become a pilot. Joker – disadvantaged as he was (before the advent of modern medicine, he wouldn’t have survived past his first year of life) – had an uncanny knack for flying. So Joker had become the flyboy while Shepard had become the jarhead. They’d been partners in crime ever since.

Turning her back on the viewport and the damnable ship, Shepard checked her watch and decided that it was time to siphon off some of her foul mood onto her students.

 

* * *

 

**Systems Alliance Space**

No sooner had Admiral Steven Hackett waved the _Normandy_ goodbye from the Citadel space docks than he had boarded a cruiser in search of a comm buoy that would link to Eden Prime. As a small agrarian colony, Eden Prime wasn’t high on the Alliance’s priority list – ironic now considering that it was the site for one of the most important discoveries in human history. For those reasons, the Admiral had appointed himself as the messenger. The Prothean artefact was strictly classified and secrecy was of the essence. Eden Prime was vulnerable, and if there was one thing Admiral Hackett despised; it was the feeling that the enemy could take him from behind when he least expected it.

Every Alliance colony had a groundside garrison assigned to it; but everyone knew that the marines relegated to frontier divisions were those who weren’t good enough to serve with the fleet. So not only did Eden Prime possess archaic communications and defensive technology; it was also protected by substandard soldiers. Hackett could only imagine how the men and women of the 2nd Frontier Division stationed on Eden Prime would shit their pants when his call came through. The admiral was about to make their careers – perhaps one career in particular. Hackett hadn’t forgotten about Gunnery-Chief Ashley Williams, grand-daughter of General Williams.

The Williams name was well-known within the Alliance, but it wasn’t held up with the likes of Grissom or Hackett himself. Williams had made himself infamous for being the first human ever to surrender to an alien. Since then his whole family had borne the stigma; his son had enlisted in the Navy and had never exceeded the rank of Serviceman 3rd Class. That, however, hadn’t stopped Ashley Williams from enlisting on her eighteenth birthday.

Hackett sat in his cabin, looking over the chief’s service record. Hell if she hadn’t fought tooth and nail for a shipboard posting, only to receive repeated denials. Clearly the woman didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’. Hackett had to smile – whatever a man General Williams had been, it seemed that his grand-daughter had bags-worth of mettle. She was a fighter, fighting for her family’s honour. Hackett could respect that. The Alliance had needed a scapegoat, and, frankly, General Williams had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The turians had deployed orbital strikes against the human colony Williams had made his stand on. Was the general really expected to throw away the lives of his men for the sake of pride? Hackett was by no means the kind of man to roll over to the aliens (he’d been all-too-happy to let David Anderson pay lip-service to the Council), but he knew the wisdom of tactics. The turians had backed Alliance forces into a corner; Hackett could at least appreciate the turians’ impeccable strategy.

Unfortunately he suspected that Ashley Williams had a chip on her shoulder the size of Gagarin Station. So determined was she to clear her family’s name that she had earned a reputation for being brassy, even aggressive (it wasn’t as though her name could be tarnished any further). If there was one consolation Hackett could draw from all this, it was that he could count on Williams never surrendering the artefact.

Perhaps it was ironic that humanity – indeed the greater galactic community – was counting on Williams to preserve the discovery that could well spark new technological breakthroughs in unquantifiable ways. If this wasn’t the first step to exonerating her family’s name, Hackett didn’t know what was. It was likely, however, that no one would thank her. Captain Anderson was on his way with the _Normandy_ – they would receive the glory for the find; more so than the archaeologists who had uncovered it. But that was politics. Anderson was securing humanity’s place in the Spectres, and petty second-rate groundside marines had no place on the honour roll. Not this time.

A smooth handover was what Admiral Hackett was hoping for. Quick, clean, no fuss. Of course he had enough experience to know that things rarely went according to plan.

His navigator paged him from the bridge; they were now in range of a comm buoy that could relay a message to Eden Prime. Hackett opened a priority channel and encoded the transmission. Less than five minutes later he was face-to-face with a real-time image of the woman whose shoulders he was about to place a world of responsibility – more, even, that what her grandfather had carried.

 _“Admiral, sir,”_ Williams saluted him. _“Gunnery-Chief Williams of the Two-twelve, sir.”_

Hackett was seemingly unmoved by her show of courtesy; he could tell over the link that she was surprised as well as cautiously sceptical. This was the call she’d been waiting for her whole life, but she was distinctly aware that Christmas hadn’t come round yet. “I’m aware of your credentials, Gunnery-Chief. I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I’ll get straight to the point. The Alliance has gained Council approval to dispatch a ship and extract the artefact. Your orders are to muster your people and stand-to. ETA is three days. Get the civilians in lockdown and secure that artefact, you understand me?”

There was a pause while Williams considered him; she didn’t have a lot of time to digest the information or even recognise her importance. _“Yes, sir.”_

Hackett took a moment to scrutinise the screen. Privately he hated technology; he had no way of measuring a soldier unless it was in person, not over some damn vid link. “You make absolutely sure that the artefact stays safe until your detail is relieved.” He wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself, but so far Williams hadn’t inspired his confidence in her.

_“Are we expecting trouble, Admiral?”_

“The Alliance’s mandate is to always expect trouble, Chief. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how valuable Prothean tech is. Declaring the discovery was a risk; expect the vultures to be circling.”

Williams clasped her hands behind her back. _“I’ve got my best people with me. We’ll keep the artefact safe, sir.”_

“You do that, Chief.” Hackett paused. The Council was giving humanity a chance while the Alliance was giving the Williams name a chance. It seemed today was all about redemption, and he prayed that both David Anderson and Ashley Williams had it in them to pull it off. “Godspeed. Hackett out.”

 

* * *

 

**Arcturus Station, 11 th April (Terran Calendar), 2183 (Council Era)**

Shepard stared blankly at the opposite side of the classroom as the last of the N7 cadets filed out. Even they had been restless and whispering about the new ship in the docks. It was all anyone talked about. Unfortunately she hadn’t been able to slap her students (spending her birthday in the brig was not her idea of fun – and she had first-hand experience). It seemed that life was determined to mock her, today of all days. She was one year older and all she could think of was how she had wasted her twenties. Her mind wandered to Sam Traynor – a smart, sexy colony girl Shepard had met on Earth during her N7 training. Sam had been studying at Oxford (Shepard had to admit that she had a weakness for the intelligent ones) with a full scholarship from the Alliance. They’d kept in touch via vid calls over the years, though there had come a day when Sam had stopped calling. Shepard knew that it was because Sam had been going places – important places. Shepard had once been the glamorous ‘hero of the Skyllian Blitz’ – enough to keep the attention of any woman. Now, however, she had faded into the realm of oblivion. Her routine was as regular and boring as she was.

The door buzzer sounded and Shepard felt ready to smack her head on the desk. “Come in,” she growled irritably, snatching up a pad. “Forget your notes _again_ , Dawson?”

“Classroom 11-D,” came a chuckle. “Brings back memories.”

Recognising the distinct tones and British accent of her former mentor, David Anderson; Shepard automatically bolted to her feet. “Captain Anderson,” she said slowly, stunned. “Er, sorry, sir.” She promptly snapped her heels together and raised her right hand in salute.

“Lieutenant-Commander,” Anderson mirrored her gesture before letting slip an amused smile. “What, no hug? Since when did you go all formal on me? At ease before you strain something, marine.”

Shepard couldn’t help but grin when he stepped up to her desk and reached out to shake her hand. At forty-six years of age, David Anderson had lived an exciting career – the very first N7 graduate in fact – and had climbed the ranks quickly. Shepard hadn’t been surprised to hear that he’d earned a captaincy. He’d been the Executive Officer of the _SSV Hastings_ back when he was lieutenant.

Born in London on Earth, Anderson was mixed-race but had an unmistakable African origin. His skin was almond-tanned and his jet-black hair was already thinning. His hazel eyes twinkled with warmth and the wizened knowledge of a veteran. He was clean-shaven, well-groomed in his dress blues – the portrait of the immaculate officer and war hero (as the ribbons and colours pinned to his uniform could attest).

“Sorry, sir. I’m meant to be a respectable role model these days. I learned from the best.”

“I don’t know about that,” Anderson chuckled. He took a moment to look her over. She looked to be much fitter than her old scrawny teenaged self back in the days when he had mentored her in the N7 program. But her skin was ghostly pale – the result of being incarcerated on the space station rather than soaking up some sunshine on exotic planets. She looked a far cry from the determined, valiant young hero of the Skyllian Blitz. She was, simply put, a picture of a waste. Lieutenant-Commander Shepard came from a distinguished naval family; she was destined for better things. Winning the prestigious Star of Terra had been more of a curse on her than a reward. Shepard’s life had taken a turn for the worse, and the years hadn’t been too kind to her – which was understandable, really.

Fortunately for her, the captain was here to revive her career.

“What are you doing here?” asked Shepard, still amazed to see him after all this time.

He held out his arm. “How about we catch up while I treat you to a birthday lunch?”

Shepard did a double take. “Don’t tell me you came all this way just for little old me?”

 _That’s exactly why I came_ , he thought. And how could he ever forget the day eleven years ago when he had encountered an aimless eighteen-year-old Shepard getting drunk on her own for the sake of getting drunk? Following her parents’ footsteps had seemed like the natural course of action, and Shepard had had no other direction to go in. That was until Anderson had found her and offered her something much better – something to make her feel worthwhile. “If the coffee around here is decent, it would’ve been worth the trip. I’ve been living off crap that tastes like mud for the last two weeks.”

Shepard laughed and took his elbow. “This way, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

“How’s your mother?”

“I dunno,” Shepard admitted; “busy. She’s serving as XO on the _SSV Kilimanjaro_ now – no time to call me up and chat.”

Anderson displayed a knowing smile. “Why don’t _you_ try calling _her_?”

Shepard decided to stir a sugar cube into her black coffee – she never normally took sugar, but right now she needed any excuse to occupy herself. Her relationship with her mom had been...fractured...ever since Shepard’s father had committed suicide a few years ago shortly after his participation in the brutal raid on Torfan against batarian slavers. Apparently he hadn’t been able to live with the atrocities he and his subordinates had committed. Shepard knew that Hannah Shepard had blamed herself for her husband’s death; she hadn’t been in the best position to help him get over his PTSD ever since the horrors she had witnessed on Mindoir in 2170 (the handiwork of batarian slavers no less).

Many humans may still have harboured feelings of contempt for the turians following the First Contact War, but it was the batarians humanity was really at war with. The Batarian Hegemony and the Human Systems Alliance had been irreconcilable enemies since day one.

Shepard had been sixteen; old enough to understand that her mother was in pain every night when Hannah had cried herself to sleep. The station she had resided on at the time (Shepard had been herded from one side of the galaxy to the other during her childhood) had been rampant with horrifying accounts of how the batarians had invaded a defenceless farming colony on Mindoir. But the batarians didn’t deal in the standard currency of most pirates; their gold was slaves. The aliens had rounded up the population – men, women and children alike – and had caged them like animals, carrying out crude surgery to implant control chips in their brains. People who died on the operating table were the fortunate ones. Those who survived had yet to experience true terror at the hands of their ruthless masters...

Second-Lieutenant Hannah Shepard had been a bridge officer on the _SSV Einstein_ when their ship had answered the colony’s distress call. There was a very good reason for the fact that over fifty percent of the crew serving on that carrier had been discharged from active service and admitted into psych wards.

Humanity’s odyssey in the stars was not without impediment; and the batarians seemed to like nothing more than to wound humanity’s efforts wherever possible – as though it was a sport for them.

Shepard would be lying if she said she didn’t have a personal agenda with the batarians. The First Contact War was a little before her time, and so she didn’t share the older generation’s grudge with the turians. Seeing her mother suffer after Mindoir, Shepard had been afraid of the batarians. She had been terrified seven years ago when she’d been on shore leave on Elysium and batarian raiders had hit. But rather than being a scared sixteen-year-old kid in that instance; she’d been a qualified marine. Her training had kicked in. She had been able to use her fear and turn it into something productive – an instinct to survive. Remembering the atrocities on Mindoir, Shepard had been determined to save the population of Elysium from sharing the same horrible fate.

Events at Elysium had been heralded as a miracle – a point in the Alliance’s favour. Unfortunately the triumph was short-lived. The history between humanity and the batarians was simple; retaliation and revenge for one attack after the other. It was a never-ending feud of blood and hatred. No sooner had Shepard and relief forces repelled the batarian pirates, than Shepard’s own father had planned a counter-strike. Torfan.

Torfan was a moon in batarian space, and had been home to a prominent pirate base. The Alliance forces under Major John Shepard’s command had been merciless in the raid, sparing no one – not even batarian children. It was payback for Mindoir, payback for Elysium. For every time the batarians had kicked humanity, Major Shepard had been determined to hit back ten times harder. That, he did. His actions that day earned him the nickname ‘Butcher of Torfan’. The Alliance hadn’t seen fit to Court Martial him (there was no sympathy for the batarians), but he’d taken retribution into his hands yet again – for the last time. Suicide by spacing himself out of an airlock.

Since John’s death, Hannah had pretty much shut down from her friends and family, and had thrown herself firmly into her job and duties. Shepard was lucky if she’d said more than three words to her. It was awkward. Shepard had been a teenager when Hannah had suffered the traumatic events on Mindoir – hardly a fountain of wisdom, nor a rock of support. She’d taken the death of her father just as hard. The thought that John had done whatever he’d done on Torfan for them, for his wife and daughter... Shepard couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry, not even for the batarian children. The batarians had destroyed her whole family. She was smart enough to know that more blood wasn’t the answer – her father had taught her that – and so she hadn’t gone looking for more fights. Instead, she’d resigned herself onto Arcturus Station, contemplating life in the stars and whether there were more aliens out there like the batarians who were depraved and hell-bent on ruining humanity. Shepard had grown up thinking it was normal for humanity to suffer tragedy. They’d only been exploring the stars for some thirty years; there were unknowns lying in wait, disasters waiting to strike. It was an Alliance soldier’s duty to protect humanity, but there were days when she felt small – that a single soldier would get crushed under the weight of the galaxy. Perhaps it was natural, or perhaps she’d given up.

“I’ll think about it,” Shepard conceded, remembering Anderson’s query about her mom. She swirled the dark liquid of her drink round and around even though the sugar granules had long since dissolved.

Anderson watched her progress – or lack thereof. “The real exploration’s out there; but you’ve yet to explore that coffee. Come on, Shepard; chin up.”

Shepard looked up into his gentle, wizened features. She could tell that he was a soldier who wasn’t a stranger to combat. She felt a familiar twinge of resignation in her gut; he was just another reminder that humanity had accumulated wounds and scars. “Unlike the English, I don’t have a stiff upper lip.” Thinking about England made her think of Samantha...Sam...

Anderson chuckled, oblivious to her regret. “That we can do something about. Speaking of which; you seen my new ship?”

“Yes, sir; one of my friends who’s a pilot thought she looks impressive.”

Anderson smiled. “I’ll say. Co-building with the turians gave us Council funding with few limitations. I won’t bore you with the technological breakthroughs, but the _Normandy_ is the future of space travel.”

Shepard straightened up in her seat and raised an eyebrow when the captain pushed a datapad toward her. She caught it up and briefly skimmed over what looked to be schematics. The thing that stood out was the fact that the frigate was powered by a drive core that had cost millions of credits. Dozens of smaller fighters could have been commissioned for the same price of this frigate. Still, as Anderson had pointed out, the Citadel Council had contributed most of the funds. “This is all very fascinating, sir, but why are you showing me?”

“I would’ve thought that would be obvious, _XO_.”

Shepard looked up. “Huh?”

Anderson held her gaze and Shepard had a feeling that the resolute glint in his eyes was somehow going to land her in trouble.

“I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse. The _Normandy_ is my ship and I get to pick my own crew. I’ll be blunt, Shepard; I want you to be my XO.”

Shepard stared, dumbfounded. “You want... _me_...to be your Executive Officer?”

“That’s right. The _Normandy_ is going to play a unique role on the Alliance’s frontlines. I need someone I trust at my side; someone I can depend on.”

“I’m flattered, sir; but you can’t seriously think I’m the most reliable person in the galaxy?”

Anderson knew that she was referring to all her mishaps during her N7 training; how she’d been late, rude and sometimes disrespectful. Still, he had fond memories of those times. Taking Shepard under his wing and sorting her out had made him forget his own family and obligations. In fact Shepard was very much the daughter he’d never had. “So we’ll keep each other in line.”

Shepard was still just trying to get her head around the idea. _‘This time the magic carpet’s come to you’_ Joker’s words echoed in her mind. “I’m...I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘yes’?” Anderson smiled at her.

“I’m a bit rusty at naval protocols,” she admitted, scarcely able to believe that she was even entertaining the notion.

“So you’ll pick it up as you go. It’s like riding a bike, Shepard; you just need to get back on and the rest will come to you.”

Shepard wished that she shared his optimism. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Are you telling me you have a better offer?” Anderson paused and considered that Shepard had spent the last four years based out on the station – long enough to build a life for herself. Perhaps she had put down those roots Anderson so envied. “What’s her name?” he sighed. “I’d be happy to explain the situation.”

“What?” Shepard looked up and had to chuckle. “There’s no girl, sir; not this time.” Not that a girlfriend would ever hold her back; space exploration and duty to the Alliance was in her blood.

“So what’s the problem? Hell, I’ve got a dozen other candidates who would jump at the chance and seize it with both hands. At this rate I’m going to have to abduct you and chain you to the CIC.”

Shepard smiled, appreciating his humour. “I’d like to see you try.”

“The Alliance is moving ahead, and I’m taking you with me – kicking and screaming if I have to,” he added seriously.

“Do I get my own quarters?”

“Sorry, Shepard. She’s a compact ship; not a luxury liner. You _do_ get your own desk though.”

“More paperwork?” she sighed.

“You’ll have officers reporting to you – delegate.”

Shepard liked the idea of having subordinates to do the all her chores for her; “Don’t give me ideas, sir.”

Anderson clenched his jaw. “Is that a ‘yes’ then?”

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

“No,” he said flatly; “You shouldn’t need time. The offer’s on the table; take it or leave it. The _Normandy_ departs first thing tomorrow.”

Shepard stared at the mug between her hands. “XO Shepard...just like my mom.”

“She’d be proud. Now you have the perfect excuse to call her.”

Shepard considered his words and shrugged. “All right. I’m in.”

“Atta girl,” Anderson slapped the table with both hands and rose to his feet. “Now, you’d better go and let your girlfriend down gently.”

“There is no girl,” Shepard looked up. “Seriously, sir.”

Anderson shook his head with a chuckle. “Of course there isn’t. I’m not a fossil yet, you know; I _do_ remember what it’s like to be young.”

“Save me a spot with you in the museum.”

Anderson laughed and met her gaze. “We’re not there yet; not by a long shot. Your life is only just beginning, Shepard.”

Shepard was decidedly unconvinced, but she forced a smile and watched him leave. “Captain,” she blurted after him; “Wait. I...don’t suppose you’re in the market for a helmsman?”

Anderson looked back at her. “How do you think I got here?”

Shepard changed tack. “That pilot friend I mentioned? Joker – Flight-Lieutenant Moreau – he’s the best pilot I’ve ever seen. We’ve had our fair share of scrapes together.” She paused and wondered whether she was being too cheeky for her own good. But it was her birthday, so she figured she could get away with it. “We...come as a pair, sir.”

Anderson was genuinely surprised. He turned away and considered her words. “Moreau,” he murmured, trying to conjure up any knowledge of the name. The man wasn’t distinguishable by naval relatives, but for something else entirely... “Doesn’t he have Vorik’s Disease or something?”

“Vrolik’s Syndrome, sir,” Shepard respectfully corrected him.

Anderson raised an eyebrow at her. “Tell me something, Lieutenant-Commander; what good is a man with brittle bones to me?”

Shepard bit her lip. “Well, sir; it was my understanding that one doesn’t fly a ship with one’s feet. Joker’s fine as long as you don’t ask him to dance. If it’s any consolation, sir; I’ll take care of him.”

“You’d better,” he sighed, wondering how Shepard had always had some way of making him soft. “But if he screws up, it’s on your head.”

“I understand, Captain. Thank you, sir.”

“Hmm. All right. Bring this ‘Joker’ and report to Docking Bay 1-Alpha at O-eight hundred hours tomorrow. Oh, and remember to pack light – one footlocker.”

“Aye, sir,” Shepard grinned as she stood up and snapped off another salute.

“As you were,” Anderson nodded before marching out of the mess hall.

 

* * *

 

**12 th April (Terran Calendar), 2183 CE**

_“Attention all hands. Duty call for crewmembers of the_ SSV Normandy. _Please form an orderly queue and standby for processing.”_

Chatter rose in an abrupt crescendo the instant the announcement had finished. Lieutenant-Commander Shepard was already sweaty and bothered in her dress uniform as she tried to navigate her way through the maddening crowds. From the amount of people pressing in on her from all sides, it was clear that there were way too many people in the docking bay to all be a part of the crew. Perhaps they were simply there to see off friends and family, or to catch a glimpse of the new ship itself – or even a last ditch attempt to steal that ever-coveted position on the crew.

Shepard had spent last night familiarising herself with the ship’s specs – just out of professional duty of course. If she was going to be the ship’s Executive Officer, she would need to know the ins and outs of every bulkhead and shield emitter. The _Normandy_ was to have a crew of 31 – a skeleton crew befitting a small frigate. Named after the famous Battle of Normandy in 1944 (Terran years), she was a prototype ‘deep scout’ vessel optimised for solo reconnaissance missions. As well as the cutting edge IES (Internal Emission Sink) stealth system and Tantalus Drive Core; the ship was equipped with GARDIAN (General Area Defence Integration Anti-spacecraft Network) point defence lasers, kinetic barriers and a spinal mass accelerator cannon that fired dual disruptor Javelin torpedoes. She was no pushover.

But the real exciting thing about the _Normandy_ was that it had been co-engineered by the turians. The CIC (Combat Information Centre) was based on their design, and Shepard was quite looking forward to seeing it.

She wasn’t the only one.

“I could just kiss you right about now,” Joker hugged her arm.

“Please don’t.”

Joker released her and grinned to himself as he hobbled along beside her. “Thanks – for not leaving me behind.”

“Am I forgiven for being a jerk then?”

“Totally forgotten. This is like the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Shepard smiled. “You owe me one,” she reminded him.

“I’ll polish your boots every day, press your uniform -”

“- Massage my feet.”

“Don’t push it.”

Shepard laughed as they moved up the queue, ever closer toward the ramp and their new home. She could already imagine the feeling of subtle vertigo the second a ship’s momentum dampeners kicked in. It would be nice to be on the move rather than be stuck in limbo.

“Next!”

Joker stepped forward eagerly. “Flight-Lieutenant Moreau reporting for duty, sir.”

The officer took his time scrutinising him, so much so that Shepard noticed Joker’s body begin to tremble from the exertion of trying to stand straight.

“Is there a problem here?” she blurted.

“Lieutenant-Commander Shepard,” the man’s expression widened in awe. “Er, Charles Pressly. I served on the _SSV Agincourt_ when the Alliance got sent in to relieve you. You’re the only reason Elysium is still standing; it’s an honour to meet you in person, ma’am.”

Shepard allowed him to shake her hand. “Yes, well, I owe a lot of my accomplishments to this man. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him.”

Pressly returned his gaze to Joker who raised an eyebrow but said nothing for fear of ruining the ruse. “I see. Well, after you, sir; the captain’s waiting.”

“Yes he is,” Joker smirked, stepping past him and sparing Shepard a backwards glance. He waited on the edge of the ramp until she’d been cleared to join him. “I’m touched,” he admitted matter-of-factly. “All that stuff about me being the bane of your existence...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shepard took his satchel and slung it over her back so that he wouldn’t be encumbered during the climb. “Don’t let it go to your head. You owe me another one, by the way.”


	3. Two Candidates, One Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a note that science/engineering is not my strongest subject. Basically I'm not sure whether what I wrote on FTL is applicable to mass relay jumps. I apologise if it's wrong. If anyone knows the correct facts, please let me know. Hopefully my inaccuracies don't break immersion from the story.  
> At the end of this chapter is a glossary terms you may not have known.

**Chapter 3 **

 

**Eden Prime, Utopia System (Exodus Cluster, Milky Way)**

It was no coincidence that Eden Prime took its namesake from the biblical Garden of Eden as both an idyllic paradise and a symbol of humanity’s dawning era in space. But thousands of years had dulled many old religious beliefs, including their messages of wisdom – riddles and anecdotes that taught people to be mindful of the consequences of their actions. For the Garden of Eden had not just been a paradise on Earth; but also a dangerous trap of hedonistic temptation. An important lesson had been learned there, and here it had been forgotten.

The 3.7 million residents lived in peaceful harmony. They were a practical people, harvesting the land for its sweeping green fields of grass and its bountiful orchards. The meat and by-products from the cattle on the planet were far more exquisite than that of Earth (there were restaurants in the planet’s capital of Constant that served Eden Prime’s famous burgers); the vegetables were the most nutritious; the lakes flowed with uncontaminated water. On the surface everything was perfect.

First-in colonists were installed by an organisation called ExoGeni. In return for funding and housing, the colonists lived and worked under the condition that everything they reaped was to contribute to humanity’s progression. The agricultural business on Eden Prime was booming – there was certainly no shortage of food. But food alone would not spark the technological breakthroughs humanity needed in order to put itself on par with the Council races. In this day and age nothing was more valuable than Prothean technology. It was ExoGeni’s job to colonise and scour as many worlds as possible, while it was the Alliance’s job to guard their efforts. There was a small detachment of Alliance solders here from the 2nd Frontier Division – the 212 and the 232. But what could they do apart from watch cattle chew grass? The only danger on the planet was indulging in one burger too many – not that anyone complained. Life was comfortable and uneventful. Little did they know that their paradise was home to a tempting apple that many would come looking for...

 _Yes, yes, yes_ , Dr Manuel Cayce turned the pages of his pocket Bible frantically. _Soon._ In the dim light of his den, he huddled protectively over his desk. It didn’t matter to him that his colleague, Dr Judy Warren, thought he was being paranoid. She didn’t understand. None of them did. They were too _small_ to comprehend it.

“Reading the Good Book, huh?”

Manuel looked up sharply and snapped the volume closed with a brisk snap, causing himself to flinch involuntarily.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” his interrupter, a soldier woman, assured him. “It’s okay; I believe too.”

Manuel narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. “You...do?”

“Sure. How can you look around at the galaxy and not believe in a higher power?”

Manuel stared at her. He recognised her as the leader of the soldiers; Chief Williams. She wasn’t particularly tall, but she was burly and athletic. Her skin was tanned from the sunlight and she wore her chocolate brown hair in a tight bun. Manuel decided that she was pleasing enough on the eye, though there was something offensive about the way she carried herself. She folded her arms defensively over her chest and seemed to dare any who was brave enough to challenge her.

“Everything okay?” Williams asked warily, more bewildered by his odd behaviour than concerned. She remembered that the dossier from ExoGeni had included notes on Dr Cayce’s various mental disorders. He had tendencies to be a bit eccentric, though he had a brilliant mind. Genius and madness were two sides of the same coin after all. “Actually I was hoping to speak with you and Dr Warren. Is she here?”

“No,” Manuel answered vaguely.

Williams waited for him to elaborate. When it was clear that he didn’t understand the meaning of taking the initiative, Williams sighed and moved her hands to her hips. “Well, where is she then? Let’s go and find her.”

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen outside. Eden Prime had long days of 64.1 hours – lending extra sunshine to help stimulate crop growth.

At first Ashley had appreciated the extra time in the days to see and do more things – she had gone on walks in the fields, then dipped herself in the lake to go for a revitalising swim. But even the perfect surroundings had grated on her nerves after a while. She had begun to itch with restlessness. If she’d had her way, she would’ve been serving with the fleet. It was hardly surprising that the Alliance brass had repeatedly denied her requests for a shipboard posting. She’d been stuck on lacklustre groundside garrisons for the entirety of her career, prevented from combat roles and any contact with aliens. All because of her name – all because of what her grandfather had done over thirty years ago in the First Contact War.

But if Admiral Hackett’s call was anything to go by, it seemed that her luck was finally changing. She had taken satisfaction every second the admiral had spent talking to her over the link. She wondered – no, she _hoped_ that he had had to clench his fists and bite back his pride. How she would’ve loved to have been there in person and watch him squirm...

It wasn’t an understatement to say that Ashley had never forgiven the Alliance for their treatment of her grandfather and her father; indeed it took a particular kind of ‘thick-head’ to walk into a job where her family name was black-listed. She’d done it anyway, and she’d marched in proudly. Her father had saluted her the day she’d made it as an NCO. The next day he had hung up his rifle and retired, content to entrust his eldest daughter with the Williams legacy. Ashley’s contempt for the events and the people involved on the day General Williams had surrendered to the Turians had been enough to fuel her quest for revenge, to make sure that no human ever surrendered to an alien ever again. She would prove that humans were strong and that the Williams name deserved a place in the future the Alliance was building – and the smug admirals could kiss her Sironan ass while she was at it.

Now she took delight in the fact that a Williams was in charge of the most important discovery since the Martian Archives. Instead of reciting her father’s favourite poem (Tennyson’s _Ulysses_ ) to his grave, she would have even better news to tell him.

 

* * *

 

Dr Cayce led Ashley to the dig site where the Prothean artefact had been uncovered. It was a round barrow with apparent Prothean stone structures protruding from the ground. The layout of the stones reminded Ashley of Stonehenge on Earth, not that she had ever seen it in person. Yet perhaps the arrangement was significant; the artefact itself was in the very centre – a focal point. While she didn’t claim to be an expert on Prothean customs, it appeared that this place was important. She couldn’t say why or how – that was the scientists’ job – it simply was.

Sure enough, Dr Warren was busy poring over the ancient object. Ashley disliked scientists on principle; they were faithless smart-asses who enjoyed nothing more than to order Ash’s people about to make them coffee. They thought they were so smug and superior, when really all they did was whine. Dr Manuel Cayce may have been unhinged at the best of times, but Dr Judy Warren was equally quirky. Ash hadn’t looked pretty during her HEAT (Hostile Environment Assault Training) at Fort Charles Upham on Saturn’s moon, Titan, but she had to wrinkle her nose in disgust whenever she saw Dr Warren. Did the woman ever wash her hair? She was dirty, revolting. Evidently she didn’t have a man to please, though Ash suddenly thought that Judy and Manuel would make quite the couple. She didn’t know whether to laugh or gag. Either way she had to pretend to look attentive when the good doctor waved her over, excited to spew more techno-babble no doubt. Ash would rather stay at least ten feet away from her, but she was damned if she was going to whine about it like they did.

“Isn’t it marvellous?” Dr Warren gestured to the tall spire in the centre of the mound.

“Er...what is it, exactly?” Ash had to crane her neck to look at the tip of the artefact. It definitely wasn’t your average broken bracelet or mouldy rock.

“We think it’s a data module – part of a galaxy-wide information network.”

Ash didn’t pretend to understand what the implications of that theory were. The so-called ‘data module’ was a hell of a lot larger than a modern-day Optical Storage Device. She thought that the Protheans were supposed to be technologically advanced. If this really was a data storage device, it made her think of the first computer – how it had filled an entire room. Surely the Protheans couldn’t have been that archaic?

“We have unlocked the heart of evil,” Manuel muttered; “opened Pandora’s Box. A disease shall smite the galaxy and purge it of all life...”

Ash raised an eyebrow, but had long since learned to just ignore anything that came from the psychotic doctor’s mouth.

“Manuel,” Dr Warren softly chided him. “Have you taken your medication today?”

 _My thoughts exactly_ , Ash smirked.

“I am the only sane one here,” Manuel whispered. “The beast is awake and sees all. We must bury it, cast it from whence it came and never speak of it again.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Ash chimed in. “I’ve had word that the Alliance is sending a ship to pick up the artefact and hand it over to the Citadel Council.”

“What?” Dr Warren blurted.

“It begins,” Manuel continued to whisper. “The apple is poison. Don’t eat the apple... They will bring disease to this world.” Ash rolled her eyes. “Shut him up, or I will. This is important. We need to move this thing to the port where it’ll stay under armed-guard until the Alliance ship gets here.”

“But it’s ours – Manuel and I found it.”

“Don’t eat the apple,” Manuel chanted. “It’s a trap.”

Ash raised her voice to drown out the doctor’s mutterings. “To be honest, Doc, I’m not thrilled either. As far as I’m concerned, this artefact is Alliance property. But I’ve got my orders. Pack your gear and head back to the town.”

“Nowhere will be safe,” Manuel bobbed at her shoulder. “The beast sees all. The apple -”

That did it. Before Ash could think about it, she’d raised her elbow and snapped it back into his face. There was a sickening crunch followed by Dr Warren’s startled gasp.

“You hit him!”

“And so it was that Eve gave into temptation,” Manuel gurgled, cradling a broken nose.

Ash sighed. “It was worth a try...”

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy_ , docked on Arcturus Space Station (Arcturus Stream, Milky Way)**

The SSV _Normandy_ SR-1 was officially about to embark on her maiden flight to test out her new systems. Spectre Nihlus Kryik was officially onboard as an inspector on behalf of the Citadel Council. Commander Shepard was officially Captain Anderson’s Executive Officer, though if all went well over the next couple of days she would surpass the mere ranks of the Alliance Navy and become humanity’s first Spectre.

Admittedly Anderson had relished the idea of Spectre Shepard, his protégé, serving alongside him on his ship. It wouldn’t quite be the same as wearing the Spectre’s insignia on his own chest, but it was the next best thing. This was his chance to reclaim a glory that had been robbed from him twenty years ago when he’d been in Shepard’s shoes. But as the Council had correctly pointed out; he hadn’t been ready. Humanity had a reputation for being rash and impatient; rather than going out to seize opportunities, the other species preferred that they wait until opportunities presented themselves. Anderson had waited twenty years – he was damned if that wasn’t long enough. And because he was too old to make up for lost time; it was up to Shepard to live his dream for him. He would keep her close and mentor her – just like the old days. At the same time he would get to experience what he had been denied all those years ago.

First they would have to bring the Prothean artefact safely to the Citadel and appease the Council. In order to accomplish such a feat, the _Normandy_ was furnished for success; Anderson had personally handpicked every member of his crew (although Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko had been a mandatory selection thanks to Ambassador Udina). They were a mix of bright youth and sensible experience – the best men and women the Alliance Navy had to offer. And of course it wasn’t just humanity under scrutiny in this mission; if the ship performed well then the Alliance would consider commissioning an armada of Normandy-class frigates – of which the _Normandy_ would have the honour of being the parent.

Anderson hardly needed any more reminders of the pressures on his shoulders. A disciplined crew and a generous helping of good luck would see him through. He had already given the crew their orders – to prepare the _Normandy_ for a trip to Eden Prime in the Exodus Cluster (so named because humanity had established many of its first colonies there – a grand exodus from an over-populated Earth). But he was also painfully aware that his instructions had sparked more discussion than action. In some ways Nihlus Kryik was a useful distraction for the crew to gossip about rather than speculate about why Eden Prime – of all places – had been designated as the ship’s destination. It was highly unlikely that they’d met a Spectre before, and Nihlus was a turian at that. The captain wasn’t worried about bad blood; the majority of the crew were too young to have fought in the First Contact War, and those that had were professional enough to treat the Alliance’s guest with polite courtesy.

Getting friendly with a turian was the least of his concerns. Admiral Hackett had made it more than clear that the Prothean artefact was worth the _Normandy_ ’s weight in gold (and she was heavier than other frigates thanks to her revolutionary drive core). As long as this mission went smoothly, by the book, the Alliance could ask for more favours from the Council. First a human Spectre, next a Prothean weapons platform or a cure for cancer. Anderson had screwed up his mission to redeem the Alliance and exonerate a friend twenty years ago; he couldn’t afford for history to repeat itself.

 

* * *

 

Commander Shepard had shaken so many hands and held so many salutes that it was a wonder she wasn’t suffering from repetitive strain injury. Of course she hadn’t remembered half the names she had been introduced to; fortunately there would be time enough to properly acquaint herself with the rest of the ship later. As XO, her immediate duties were first and foremost on Deck 1. The _Normandy_ ’s CIC was the first of its kind in the Alliance Navy. Designed by the turians; the deck was arranged so that the commanding officer was stationed at the rear, looking ahead to their subordinates. Apparently the turians had no qualms with bellowing orders – hopefully human commanders could step up to the challenge rather than relying entirely on personal radios.

The CIC encompassed the galaxy map, various operations stations, and joined all the way to the cockpit via the aptly named ‘bridge’ – a long corridor lined with tactical ops stations on either side. It was the job of the CIC to analyse the battlefield and relay data that the personnel situated on the bridge would receive and respond to accordingly. It was certainly an original approach – a successful one if the turians’ renowned military prowess was anything to go by.

Shepard smiled and declined Mr Pressly’s offer to try the ‘captain’s mast’ – the pedestal above the galaxy map where the captain would command from. As XO she would almost certainly get her fair share of chances to take command of the deck; for now she was content to find her own feet first. The _Normandy_ ’s crew wasn’t large, but she was still responsible for the welfare of thirty people. She’d have to start by remembering their names.

Beside her Joker was bored of the tour; he wanted to take his rightful place at the helm, and so that was their next stop.

“I’m telling you,” a crewman in the cockpit was saying as they approached over the bridge; “I grew up on Eden Prime. If someone so much as gets a hangnail, it makes front-page news. You _don’t_ send Spectres there.”

“You and your conspiracy theories, Corporal,” the helmsman shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you? Spectre Kryik is just here to oversee the shakedown run. Like you said; Eden Prime is nice and quiet – we won’t have any trouble.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s like we’ve got a bulls-eye painted on the hull.”

“Then it’s just as well we’re on a stealth ship, isn’t it?” Joker chimed in. He reached out and tapped the helmsman’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re in my seat.”

Shepard was mortified by her friend’s rudeness. “ _Joker_.”

The officer swivelled to face them and stood up to make way for him. “Just keeping it warm for you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Joker shooed him aside and eagerly claimed his chair.

“Don’t mind him,” Shepard discreetly counted the number of pips on the officer’s uniform; “Lieutenant.”

“Alenko,” he offered her his hand.

“Shepard,” she answered, obliging him.

He smiled; “There are a lot of new faces to remember.”

Shepard blinked. Was it possible? This man truly didn’t know who she was? It was a miracle – one she wasn’t about to spoil.

“Shepard?” the corporal echoed. “As in the ‘Shepherd of Elysium’ Shepard?”

Shepard grimaced; so much for keeping a low profile. “I prefer ‘commander’, Corporal.”

“Jenkins, ma’am,” he stood up and saluted her. “Wow. I’ve never met anyone who got awarded the Star of Terra before.”

“She gives autographs too, you know,” Joker commented dryly.

Shepard frowned; she was all-too-aware of Joker’s mood swings whenever he felt he was in her shadow – and he’d just spent the entire morning as a mute spectator to people fawning over her. “There’s nothing special about me, Jenkins.”

“That’s not how the vids tell it. They say you single-handedly held out against an entire enemy platoon -”

“Action vids tend to exaggerate,” Shepard cut across him.

“She’s being modest,” said Joker. “How many batarians were there? Forty? Fifty? And the only weapon you had was a fork from the restaurant you were eating at when they attacked. You blinded them one by one in close-quarter-combat while the civilians slipped out.”

“Wow,” Jenkins’s jaw was agape. “Really?”

Joker snorted but it was Lt Alenko who jumped in to spare the commander.

“Jenkins, why don’t you go and help the doctor organise her supplies?”

“Aye, sir.”

Shepard bowed her head while the young corporal walked past them. “Thanks,” she muttered to the lieutenant. “It’s one story I hate repeating.”

“No problem, ma’am; I know what it’s like to have unwanted attention.”

Joker rolled his eyes. It was the galaxy’s perverse joke that Shepard be endowed with some irresistible charm to men that she would never reciprocate. “Before you get ahead of yourself, _Lieutenant_ ; she’s a lez.”

Shepard placed her hands on her hips. “Er, do you wanna make a ship-wide announcement while you’re at it, Joker?”

“If you want, Commander,” Joker shrugged.

Alenko looked at a loss for words. He decided that a change of subject was better than embarrassing everyone further. “Er, Lieutenant, you’ll notice that the ship uses the new Haptic Adaptive Interface. If you haven’t already got the sub-dermal implants, I suggest you pay a visit to the doctor.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I’m a pilot; not a robot. I want to _feel_ the ship in my hands.”

“It’s up to you, but a lot of people complain that gloves leave a bad smell on your hands.”

Joker shook his head. “Who the hell came up with this design anyway? And these seats feel like they’re padded with bricks.”

“That’d be the Turian Hierarchy,” a husky voice sounded behind them.

The three humans froze as though they’d been caught red-handed committing a grievous act while a tall turian ducked into the snug cockpit and surveyed the trio in silence before introducing himself.

“I’m Spectre Nihlus Kryik. You must be Commander Shepard and Lieutenant Alenko.”

Joker tried waving his hand to attract attention. It wasn’t a surprise that no one had eyes for him; he was used to it. Even his own parents had written him off since the day a foetal scan had shown that he had brittle bone disease. Not so long ago he wouldn’t have survived past his first year; fortunately modern medical science had made significant advances. His story wasn’t that of the underdog overcoming impossible odds, however. His life was a permanent struggle to earn recognition and status as a man – a living, breathing man with feelings, ambitions and talents. Stacked against the likes of the ‘Shepherd of Elysium’, he tended to fade into the realm of inconsequence. Being Shepard’s best friend was sometimes as debilitating as it was rewarding.

“I expect to see you both at dinner in the captain’s cabin tonight,” the turian continued, completely oblivious to Joker and his obvious attempts to pull immature faces. Turians lacked the skin and musculature necessary to produce facial expressions; instead their mandibles would twitch to indicate an extreme emotion from awe to displeasure. Nihlus wasn’t amused, as his mandibles hinted – not that Joker knew how to discern a turian’s feelings.

“Did my invite get lost in the mail?” Joker pressed.

Nihlus finally acknowledged him with a piercing glare, silently daring the human to continue his juvenile tantrum.

Shepard placed her hand on Joker’s shoulder to silence him. “We look forward to it, Mr Kryik.”

Nihlus lifted his eyes to her; his mandibles twitched as he conceded the point. “Carry on.”  

Alenko nodded politely when the turian turned and marched away.

“Would someone mind telling me what the hell just happened?” Joker muttered, shrugging Shepard’s hand off.

“What happened is that we managed to avoid a cross-species conflict before the ship’s even left space dock,” Shepard reproached him.

“It’s not my fault the guy has a stick up his ass; someone should teach him the virtues of a smile. Damn, that explains why these seats are so hard – turians are all cold metal and bone.”

Alenko gave a nervous kind of chuckle. “Relax, Lieutenant. The Council helped fund the construction of the _Normandy_ ; it makes sense that they would send someone to check on their investment.”

“A Spectre,” Shepard pointed out. “Isn’t that a bit of an over-kill?”

Alenko clasped his hands behind his back. “Respectfully, Commander; Mr Kryik is the captain’s guest. I don’t think any of us are in a position to question captain’s orders.”

Shepard considered him. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Captain Anderson’s motives than he’d initially let on. Something was going on, and if it involved a Council Spectre...it had to be big. “I guess we’ll find out tonight,” she admitted, knowing that idle speculation was futile at this point.

“See you there,” Alenko nodded and spared a brief glance at Joker before slipping out of the cockpit.

“This just gets better and better,” Joker muttered.

Shepard folded her arms. “You’re the one who begged me to get us on here in the first place, remember? This morning you wanted to kiss me.”

“This morning I wasn’t on a turian Spectre’s shit-list.”

“So go apologise to him.”

Joker scowled as he swivelled his chair to face the conn. “I didn’t sign up to get dissected by doctors and make friends with turians.”

“You’d better get used to it, Joker,” Shepard said seriously. “We’re not at war anymore; the turians are our allies.”

“Would you say the same thing if Nihlus was a batarian?”

Shepard tensed. “We’re on a mission of space exploration,” she reiterated. “There are plenty more aliens where Nihlus came from.”

“And we have to get chummy with them, I get it,” Joker rolled his eyes. Shepard hadn’t answered his question, but he knew better than to force the issue (batarians were a touchy subject with her). “If you don’t mind, _Commander_ , I’ve got preparations to make before we disengage space dock.”

Shepard hated the sudden animosity between them, but there was nothing she could do except let Joker cool off. Once he’d finished sulking and getting over his jealousy, they would be friends again. “Fine. See you later.”

“Have fun at dinner in the captain’s cabin.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting settled on the ship and activating the ship’s systems, one by one. This gave Commander Shepard the chance to roll up her sleeves and get stuck in – she’d always preferred the hands-on approach as opposed to listening to a lecture. It also afforded her the opportunity for some banter with the crew; she was determined to be the kind of XO that was human and approachable, rather than being strict and authoritarian. Shepard was very much a social creature; she enjoyed meeting new people and making friends – she was the kind of person to strike up a conversation with a stranger during a queue at the supermarket. And she appreciated the change of tempo from a classroom of N7 cadets. All her colleagues were fully-qualified professionals, and nearly every one of them had surpassed the age of raging hormones. They’d only just left Arcturus Station and already Shepard could feel herself fitting in; for once she was glad that she’d taken Joker’s advice and taken the plunge to turn her life around.

It was good to be back with Anderson; she’d missed him. In a disjointed, jumbled childhood being carted around from ship to ship, David Anderson had provided stability when she’d needed it most. She’d wasted most of her teenage years on drink, firmly rebelling against the pattern her navy parents had set for her. The Alliance Navy was all she had known; she’d been born into it and she had resigned herself to dying in it. That was until Anderson had showed her a standard beyond the average navy brat and had taught her to discover a love of exploration. The N7 program had provided her with challenges as well as travel – the training had pushed her to her limits but the experiences had been unmatched. That wasn’t to say her career had been all adventure and plain-sailing; the galaxy was as ugly as it was beautiful. The bad times taught you to appreciate the good. For the last few years, Shepard had forgotten the moral of that lesson. At least Anderson hadn’t forgotten about her even when she had forgotten about him. Now she had a chance to make up for lost time, re-establish an old friendship that had once bolstered her so much.

Shepard glanced at her watch, hoping against hope that it was showing the wrong time. While poking around the ship’s systems, she’d completely forgotten that she was due for dinner...with the captain of the ship.

“Damn,” she muttered, tucking her shirt in as she jabbed the door buzzer on the panel outside the captain’s quarters. The door swished open to admit her and she blurted out her hastily-rehearsed apology; “Sorry, sir...I was on a shift, and...lost track of time...I just...” She gulped when she saw that Lt Alenko was in his dress blues while she was in shirt-sleeves and had manifold grease on her face and arms. _Crap._ “Give me two minutes and I can go clean myself up.”

Anderson smiled warmly as he stepped up to her and took her shoulder. “Nonsense, Shepard; unfortunately I didn’t invite any pretty girls for you to impress. You look like you could use a drink.”

“You read my mind, Ander- _Sir._ ” Shepard coloured involuntarily under the joint gaze of both the turian and her human subordinate. She made a mental note to not let herself be too informal with the captain, though it would take some getting used to. Shepard regarded anyone who had held her hair back while she’d been spewing her guts up in a toilet a familiar friend – and Anderson had dealt with his fair share of her issues.

“Good. I took the liberty of smuggling some Jameson onboard – a secret that can’t be allowed to go beyond these bulkheads.”

“My lips are sealed,” Shepard grinned.

“Take a seat,” Anderson gestured to the table. “We don’t have a cook onboard but I made an exception for this occasion. The doctor’s quite handy in the kitchen – just don’t tell her I said so or she’ll come after me with a frying pan.”

They had a feast of some kind of stew and vegetables while Nihlus had his own specially-tailored dish (turians and humans couldn’t eat the same food).

Shepard smiled politely at Alenko as she sat down beside him.

“Commander,” he nodded. “Good day?”

“Not bad,” Shepard reached straight for the whiskey. “You?”

“This is my first shipboard assignment. I like it so far.”

Nihlus sipped his own special concoction, seemingly disinterested in their small talk. “Perhaps we could get to business?”

Shepard shifted in her seat; she hadn’t been aware that dinner was ‘business’.

Captain Anderson finished organising the contents on the table and sat down. “I’ll admit that I had an ulterior motive for inviting you here tonight; it’s not just a welcome banquet.”

 _I knew it_ , thought Shepard.

“I suppose you’ve probably been wondering what a Spectre is doing on the ship,” Nihlus continued.

“The crew’s been a little restless,” Shepard admitted.

“We assumed that you’re here on behalf of the Council and the Turian Hierarchy to inspect the ship,” said Alenko.

Nihlus’s mandibles twitched. “I don’t have the necessary authority to represent the Hierarchy, Lieutenant. I _am_ here on behalf of the Council, however. I will be supervising the two of you during the mission on Eden Prime.”

“What mission?” Shepard posed. “I thought we were just taking the ship on a shakedown.”

“We’ll be testing the stealth systems,” Anderson assured her. “I think it’s time we told them the plan, Nihlus.”

The turian dabbed at his mandibles with his napkin before clearing his throat to speak. “Very well. The _Normandy_ is on a Council mission to retrieve a Prothean artefact on Eden Prime.”

“A science team from ExoGeni recently discovered it,” Anderson continued. “We don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s Prothean. This could be the biggest discovery in human history.”

Shepard raised her eyebrow sceptically; humanity had developed at light-speed during the last few decades. It seemed that every other week someone was declaring the ‘biggest discovery in human history yet’. Apparently what set this particular case apart from the rest was that it involved the term ‘Prothean’.

The case of the Protheans was something of an oddity. The modern galactic community had built itself on technology left by the Protheans – in fact most, if not all, space-faring races owed their technological advancements to the discovery of a Prothean data cache in their home systems (just as humanity had found a Prothean data cache on Mars). But it was strange to think that while they were all benefitting from the Protheans’ legacy, no one had the first clue about who the Protheans had really been. There were no surviving works of literature or art – no hint as to what their culture had been like. They were, without a doubt, the galaxy’s biggest mystery. A species that had been so technologically advanced had apparently vanished into thin air without a trace. No one alive today knew what had caused them to suddenly go extinct at the apex of their civilisation, though that didn’t stop people from speculating.

The Council had strict laws that any Prothean technology must be shared; otherwise one species could gain an unfair advantage over another. And since everyone used the Prothean mass relays, it was only fair that they divide the spoils from a long-dead race.

“There’s more,” said Anderson. “Nihlus is here to assess the both of you. The Council has agreed to take two candidates into consideration for the Spectres. You two were chosen.”

“This collaboration will be the first in my ongoing assessment,” Nihlus continued. “The Spectres are an elite group; we expect nothing less than the best from our operatives. Since we’re going to be working very closely together, the captain and I thought we should use tonight to get to know one another a little better.” He sipped his triple-filtered turian brandy thoughtfully. “Captain, I understand that you, in fact, had the privilege of working with Saren Arterius.”

Anderson did his utmost to restrain the pure loathing the name invoked. ‘Privilege’ wasn’t exactly the word he’d use... ‘Misfortune’ was closer, though hardly did the truth justice.

“He’s a living legend,” Nihlus explained to the others, not waiting for the captain to answer. “He saw potential in me where the military was blind, and mentored me into joining the Spectres. I hope I can provide the same guidance to whichever one of you gets granted the honour of a place in our ranks. Commander Shepard, I’m already aware of your achievements – your exemplary service record speaks for itself.”

Shepard was more than happy to not have to talk about herself; the turian could turn his attention to the other candidate.

“Lieutenant Alenko, humans are not naturally biotic. How did you come to be?”

Alenko was initially puzzled until he realised that the turian wasn’t asking him to explain human reproduction. “Er, well, my mother was downwind of a transport crash in Singapore while she was pregnant with my sister and I – we’re twins. Rather than developing fatal brain cancer, we developed biotics instead. Conatix Industries was set up to track accidental element zero exposures – it was supposed to offer support to affected families as well as advance science. When my sister and I were ten years old, a pair of men in suits turned up at our front door one day after school and the next thing we knew, we were on Jump Zero in the BAaT program – Biotic Acclimation and Temperance training.” He paused and forced a smile. “I joined the Alliance military ten years ago, and here we are.”

Shepard was quite interested in Alenko’s history; she’d never met a human biotic before. They were such a small minority in human society and tended to be persecuted on account of misunderstanding. Biotics were predominantly used as weapons, so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that non-biotics feared their magical powers.

Nihlus nodded in respect. “Your species has a lot of potential. Lieutenant, you embody humanity’s capability for physiological evolution. Commander, you are proof that humanity has an indomitable determination to survive. The Council recognises that these are valuable commodities to enrich our community. I wish both of you the very best of luck and trust that you will strive to deserve your place in the Spectres.”

“Hear, hear,” Anderson raised his tumbler in a toast.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the evening was spent as a Q&A session while Shepard and Alenko learned as much as possible about life as a Spectre. Nihlus had had quite a colourful career as a Spectre and he was one of the Council’s most trusted agents. Spectre agents weren’t usually known to the rest of the galaxy by name, though Saren Arterius was the exception to the rule. No one knew exactly how many Spectres there were; apparently operatives weren’t selected exclusively from the three Council races. They were also given a great deal more freedom than standard law enforcement agents in that they answered to no authority but the Council itself. Shepard could already predict problems with that kind of liberty; according to Nihlus, however, all turians were taught strict discipline from birth. That wasn’t to say they couldn’t have strict discipline in criminal ventures... The more Shepard heard, the more she shied away from the idea. She hadn’t asked to be a candidate and she certainly didn’t see it as an honour. In fact she was upset that Anderson had gone behind her back and entered her into something she didn’t want to be involved in. Intent on finding out why he had deceived her, she stayed back after bidding goodnight to the other two.

Anderson had gone to his drinks cabinet for a refill. Even with his back turned, he sensed that she hadn’t departed with the other two. “Something on your mind, Commander?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

He poured himself a measure of whiskey. “Go ahead.”

“Why me?”

Anderson tipped the tumbler to his lips and savoured the golden liquid rather than gulping it. “The Alliance needs this, Shepard.” He turned to face her. “Humanity needs this.”

Shepard considered his words. “What makes you think _I’m_ the best humanity has to offer? Alenko I can understand – he’s a biotic, a fine officer. But I’m just...”

Anderson sensed her low esteem. “Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko is a bright young man with a positive career ahead of him. But this is his first tour of frontline duty; he’s spent the last ten years in officer’s school. I’ve got no doubt that he’s a fine officer – I’ve watched the man in simulations and he has a natural grasp of tactical command. But he’s not Spectre material. Spectres aren’t made, Shepard; they’re born. You were born straight into humanity’s campaign in the stars – hell, you were getting shot at before you even left your mother’s womb. You’ve got the very essence of humanity’s struggle in your blood.”

“That’s very poetic, sir, but you know what I mean. Marines have a shelf life; I had my five minutes of glory and then I expired.”

Anderson had to chuckle at her metaphor. “You maintained your physical condition while on Arcturus; sharpened your training.”

“Yeah, on paper it looks like a safe bet. But I’m not sure my heart is really in this, Captain. To be honest, Joker’s the reason I accepted your offer. I’ve never seen him more inspired in his life. Of course I had to come along for the ride, because I babysit him. Or maybe I’d be lost without him... Everyone I knew from the old days all moved up in the world.” She clenched her jaw. “I don’t know how my mom managed to carry on. I’m the weakest Shepard in the family.”

“That’s not true. Do you want me to tell Joker to reroute us to Elysium so you can take a look at the evidence for yourself?”

Shepard lowered her gaze and held her tongue. How could she face Joker with her new potential title of Spectre? He was already jealous; now he would outright resent her.

“Shepard,” Anderson touched her arm. “I told you before; I’m moving ahead and I’m taking you with me.”

Shepard looked up. “Sounds like you’ve already been there. You never told me you got to roll with a Spectre.”

Anderson watched as he gently swilled the liquid around in his glass. “Now’s not the time to get into it,” he sighed. “The short version is that twenty years ago, I was given the chance to become humanity’s first Spectre. But I blew it. Saren was the Spectre assessing me...and he made sure that I failed. Things went real bad...” He trailed off and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Shepard said gently, trying to console him. “He sounds like a bastard. But at least one good thing came out of it; you and I probably wouldn’t have met if you’d become a Spectre.”

Anderson had to smile at that. “True.” He paused. “I hope you’re not getting all sentimental on me.”

“No, sir; it’s the Jameson talking.”

“Damn right,” Anderson chuckled. He trailed off and turned more serious. “We still have a lot to learn out here, Shepard. I had a bad experience with Saren, but not every turian thinks we’re a blight on the galaxy. You heard Nihlus; I haven’t known him that long but he seems like an honourable man. This is our best shot to get ahead. The Council is giving us a chance to prove that we’ve matured; all you have to do is secure that artefact and wear your dress blues when you meet the Council.”

Shepard summoned a smile. “Will there be a pretty girl for me to impress?”

“You never know. Being part of a galactic community _does_ have its benefits. The Citadel doesn’t make them like back home, that’s for sure.”

Shepard already felt much more positive. “Now you see _that_ would’ve sold me on the idea if you’d just told me in the first place.”

Anderson chuckled and topped up their glasses for one last nightcap. “This is your time, Shepard.” _Our comeback._ “Get a good night’s sleep; tomorrow we make history.”

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy_ , en route to Eden Prime**

“We’re about to hit the last gate,” Joker reported, looking up from the stats on his console to see the view with his own eyes.

Mass relays were assembled with two curved ‘arms’ held together by a pair of revolving rings housing an element zero core. No one knew to this day what kind of metal the relays were made from, only that it was the same resilient material the Citadel was constructed from – the Protheans were nothing if not consistent. Protected by a quantum shield, the relays were said to be indestructible – not that anyone had tried to destroy one. Each relay was a gateway to the galaxy and could slingshot ships instantaneously over vast distances that would take FTL drives years or even decades to complete. The galactic community would surely grind to a halt without them.

Against the backdrop of black space, the bright blue glow emanating from the relay’s core was truly a wondrous sight to behold but Joker had to return his attention to his console when he heard a beeping sound; the mass relay had detected the _Normandy_ ’s approach vector and was asking him to declare the amount of mass the relay would be required to send along. All those detentions practising his pi calculations were finally paying off.

There were two types of mass relay: primary and secondary. Primary relays were able to slingshot a ship thousands of light-years but were limited in that they could only link to one other relay – its ‘partner’ relay.  Secondary relays didn’t have the same restriction; they could link to any relay, but only over much shorter distances. When a relay activated via its proximity detection protocol, just as this relay had done, it would have to spend minutes aligning itself to the desired destination.

“We have an exit gate,” Joker smiled when a light on his console winked green. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. I’m happy to report that there is no traffic today in the relay corridors. Flight time is estimated at a punctual five point seven one seconds – rounded up. As ever, remember that space sickness bags are located by your duty stations if you haven’t yet had an injection from the good doc to reinforce your space legs. Other than that, please sit back and enjoy the ride.”

 _“Joker!”_ Captain Anderson’s voice barked at him over his personal radio. _“Just get us through the relay and notify me when we’re within sensor range of Eden Prime.”_

Joker sighed; no one else could appreciate the miracle he was about to pull off. ‘Getting through the relay’ hardly did the phenomenon justice. Manoeuvring a spaceship was delicate work; Joker would also have to make precise calculations for the jump or the _Normandy_ could get knocked out of the corridor mid-flight and be ripped apart. Joker wondered if Anderson would be kinder to him if he had the knowledge that his life was in Joker’s hands.

Smirking at the thought, he flexed his fingers and got to work.

The Tantalus Drive Core was proportionally twice the size of any other ship’s core; as a result Joker would have to get used to compensating for the lateral drag on the engines. The core worked in tandem with the stealth systems by allowing the ship to move at FTL speeds much longer before having to discharge the core (discharging would light them up like a neon sign in a dark alley). This was a useful feature for various reasons. Firstly, a long-duration flight typically consisted of two phases; acceleration and deceleration. Starships would accelerate for the first half of the journey, then apply thrust on the inverse the vector – decelerating for the remainder of the trip. This made ships vulnerable when coming out of FTL flight. Since they were travelling via the relay network, anything unexpected could be waiting for them on the other end. The _Normandy_ had the advantage in that she wouldn’t have to discharge the core as soon as the jump was completed – internal lithium heat sinks built into the hull were designed to store heat. They couldn’t run forever, or the crew would get cooked alive; but it was a useful feature to be able to peep out before plunging head-first into the unknown. And if an enemy fleet happened to be waiting for them, the _Normandy_ could sneak right past them and find safety behind a moon or a gas giant before having to vent the drive charge. She really was a modern day Trojan horse.

Out of the viewport, the blue glow began to flood the cockpit as the ship neared the relay’s corridor. Then Joker felt his stomach lurch before the momentum dampeners kicked in – and not a moment too soon.

 

* * *

 

Now that the final mass relay jump had been completed, the staff in the CIC were working methodically to gather sensor data about their new surroundings. As the ship passed the star system’s comm buoy, Mr Pressly linked in to transmit a report to Alliance Command that they had made it to Eden Prime and were proceeding with the mission. He was spared from having to make a call to the captain since Anderson had just walked in.

“Captain on deck!” Pressly announced.

“At ease,” Anderson swiftly raised his hand to relieve a young corporal from springing to attention. He would have to have a word with Mr Pressly about relaxing the formalities somewhat. “Sitrep,” he ordered.

“We’ve had a smooth transit, Captain; the -” Pressly broke off when his terminal beeped. “I’m picking up an incoming signal.”

“Source?”

“I’m having trouble localising it; there’s a lot of interference. It’s transmitting on a wide-band frequency but the signature appears to be Alliance.”

“Eden Prime,” Anderson supplied; “It has to be. Put it through to the briefing room and have Nihlus, Shepard and Alenko meet me there. Joker, hold our current position.”

_“Aye, aye.”_

Anderson marched to the back of the CIC where the briefing room was located. It was a sparsely furnished room with a dozen or so chairs; he didn’t waste any time scrutinising the bland decor (the _Normandy_ wasn’t a luxury liner by any stretch of the imagination) and instead fired up the comm equipment.

“What’s going on, sir?” Commander Shepard asked as she entered with Lt Alenko and Nihlus in tow.

“We’re about to find out.” Anderson pressed the button to begin playback.

The first image was heavily distorted and then it became apparent that the lens had been buried in grass as someone picked it up and looked at it – a soldier in an Alliance-embossed hardsuit.

_“Chief! Over here!”_

_“Get down!”_

The object was swatted from the Alliance soldier’s hand and tumbled to the ground as a woman came running onto the scene and fired up at the sky.

 _“Covering fire now!”_ A burst of gunfire thundered out. _“Shit. Fall back! Fall back!”_ The woman ducked down and reached for the device. _“This is Gunnery-Chief Williams of the Alliance 2 nd Frontier Division 212. We’ve been attacked by an unknown enemy. If anyone is hearing this message, please send support. I repeat -”_

The transmission ended just as an explosion went off somewhere behind Williams. The communication device had been destroyed.

The four shared a subdued silence as an ominous ‘NO SIGNAL’ blinked across the screen.

“That’s her,” Anderson was the first to muster speech.

Lt Alenko looked round at him. “Captain?”

“Gunnery-Chief Ashley Williams – grand-daughter of General Williams.”

Shepard stole a covert glance Nihlus’s way but saw that the turian looked seemingly indifferent.

“Our first priority is to secure the Prothean artefact, Captain,” the turian reminded them.

Anderson felt a cold chill down his spine. Somehow someone had managed to learn Eden Prime’s secret; they’d been walking into a trap all along. There was no telling how many enemy soldiers were on the ground or who they worked for. One thing was certain; they were after the Prothean artefact. He had to get to it first...

Spurred into action, Anderson stepped forward and typed a command into the console. The screen changed to show a still picture of Williams speaking into the device, but the captain was more interested in the distant object over her shoulder. “What’s that?” he pointed.

“A ship?” Shepard ventured, squinting to make out the crackled image. The lens had been shattered and there were flecks of blood and silt distorting the view. Something large was protruding from the ground not far behind Williams’s position. Its proportions were too large for the communications device to encompass.

“It doesn’t resemble any classification of space vehicle I’ve ever seen,” Nihlus muttered.

Anderson barely nodded in agreement, too transfixed on the screen. “Joker: take us in – fast and quiet.”

_“Aye, aye, sir.”_

“This mission just got a lot more complicated,” Anderson mused, more to himself than to the others. “Commander, Lieutenant: suit up – you’re going in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the following is a glossary of terms you may not have known:  
> NCO = Non-Commissioned Officer  
> Sironan = nationality of the colony world Sirona where Ashley Williams was born  
> SSV = Systems Alliance Space Vehicle  
> SR-1 = Space Reconnaissance-1  
> XO = Executive Officer  
> CIC = Combat Information Centre  
> Jump Zero = nickname for Gagarin Station


	4. The Attack on Eden Prime

** Chapter 4 **

 

**Eden Prime, Exodus Cluster (Utopia System, Milky Way)**

**A few hours earlier...**

The nights on Eden Prime were balmy, relaxing. The midnight zephyr was said to carry therapeutic properties; the subtle harmonics in the air were supposedly attuned to the heartbeats of the animals native to the planet. Since the cattle produced the best burgers in the known galaxy, there _must’ve_ been something special about their development. There was no conflict between any of the animal species in the food chain, and yet somehow everything remained constant; there wasn’t a problem with an over-population of one species, nor was there competition for food and land. Everyone functioned and co-existed in peaceful harmony.

Eden Prime was like one big ecstasy drug. Tasty, wholesome food; clean, nutrient-rich water; gentle, massaging winds – pure bliss. When Gunnery-Chief Ashley Williams walked back into her unit’s encampment after meeting with Dr Warren and Dr Cayce, she didn’t have the heart to shout at her people for being lazy swines. Being angry and aggressive required effort; it was easier to just wear a relaxed smile and think positive. And she could think of nothing better, at that moment in time, than participating in the frivolity in camp. Hip-hop music thrummed from a novelty boom box, makeshift goalposts had been set up for a game of soccer, and Private Nirali Bhatia was busy preparing dinner for the entire camp while listening to the recording from her husband which she did every night without fail. Ash smiled; she had grown so used to the quirks of her unit that she wouldn’t give them up for anyone or anything – not even that posting in the fleet she had once hungered for.

The rest of her unit shared her plight; they were all wannabe ‘spacers’ that had fallen short of the mark. The sad truth was that these marines were treated more like the Alliance’s refuse simply because they were associated with a Williams. That hadn’t stopped them from being proud to serve with her, however; at the end of the day, Ashley Williams was a human being. Every other human – even the admirals – were just as fallible and flawed as she was; she therefore deserved to be treated as an equal. At least Ash knew who her friends were. The assignments from the Alliance may have been mind-numbing, but at least her unit had cultivated a fun and friendly relationship. She couldn’t imagine any other bunch of misfits she’d rather fritter away her career with. They may have been rejects, but they were _her_ rejects. Besides, perhaps they had the better end of the bargain after all. Long terms in space were said to compromise bone structure and proteins; so there was a common joke between marines that spacers feared breaking a nail. Everyone knew that spacers drank a cup of warm milk every night before bed and had fluffy, soft blankets in their bunk. Who wanted to be part of a club of sissies anyway?

“Smells good, Bhatia. What’s cookin’?”

“Eden Prime’s famous burgers. I’m thinking of putting them on the menu when I get to open my restaurant.”

Ash smiled. Bhatia was one of her ‘originals’ – they’d been in the unit together since meeting during recruit training at Macapá boot camp in Brazil on Earth. Nirali Bhatia had signed up under the deferred education plan; the Alliance was a good way to learn and travel for free. But it was also a rather dangerous way to expand one’s culinary palette and devise new recipes. “Well, I think you’ve already secured your first batch of customers.”

Bhatia looked up at her with a warm smile. “Thanks, Chief. That reminds me; what’re we going to do for your birthday tomorrow?”

Ash reached up to rub her neck. “Is it that time already?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday!”

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” Ash admitted. “Besides, I’m not gonna get much chance to celebrate. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow; Admiral Hackett’s sending someone to collect the Prothean artefact.”

“All the more reason to celebrate,” Bhatia hummed.

Ash recalled that this was Bhatia’s last rotation before she completed her compulsory service and could return to Earth and her husband. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me with these degenerates,” she said it lightly, not really meaning it. Ash was fond and very protective of her unit. As the oldest of four daughters (her father had used to joke that he felt more outnumbered at home with five females than he did out on exercises), her position made her more than qualified to preside over them; she had experience ranging from changing nappies to sorting out her sisters’ troublesome boyfriends.

Bhatia pouted playfully. “Are you going to miss me, Chief?”

“What? You wish.” Ash swiftly dipped her finger in the sauce Bhatia was making to go with the burgers. “I’ll miss your cooking though,” she winked, tasting her finger.

“Hey! You’ll be paying for this dinner soon.”

“Worth every credit.”

 

* * *

 

With a full belly and sated on the narcotic midnight breezes; Ash practically had to force herself to implement the roster for stag duty up at the spaceport where the artefact was being guarded. Fortunately she’d earned some down-time before the big day tomorrow; she intended to be awake and alert so that she could commit every detail to memory when the almighty spacer officers would have no choice but to shake her hand and congratulate her for her part in humanity’s biggest discovery yet. Carrying these smug thoughts with her into her dreams, she drifted into a deep sleep almost as soon as she had zipped her sleeping bag around her like a snug cocoon.

She was busy dreaming about Admiral Hackett pinning a medal to her chest and ordering a posthumous pardon for her grandfather when she was rudely awoken by a thunder clap. Her eyes snapped open – the result of finely-honed instinct over the years – and scanned the immediate area for hostiles. Though it was dark, her hands were already working at the seam of her sleeping bag while her throat bellowed orders.

“Stand to! Stand to!”

Her people weren’t always as keen as she was. But she’d worked with them all for years; she knew how to drive them hard and achieve results.

“Marines! Get your fat, lazy asses into gear now! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

She heard a smattering of sleepy ‘Hooah!’s in response and wasn’t nearly satisfied.

“The last one up loses their alcohol rations! Let’s go!”

As she’d hoped, there was a sudden frenetic energy around camp as her people hopped from one foot to the other, pulling on clothes and donning rifles. She smirked when she saw, even in the darkness, that the man closest to her was clad only in a pair of boxers and a rifle sling – the only two articles that really mattered.

While the 232 was stationed across the other side of the main colony, the 212 had made camp just outside one of the towns. The soldiers lived and worked away from the civilians wherever possible since the locals weren’t too fond of the idea of martial law, even though the Alliance was only there to protect them from potential threats; not govern their daily lives or impose a curfew. It was highly unlikely that a civilian had wandered in; perhaps one of the indigenous animals had strayed inside by accident – it wouldn’t be the first time (of course such trespassers were granted the honour of becoming dinner).

“Hit me!” Ash called, listening out for a series of ‘Clear!’s bouncing back and forth between the perimeter.

“Chief!” Bhatia cried. “Look at the sky!”

Ash tilted her head back and lifted her eyes to the heavens. The skies were usually unblemished; a transparent pane to the twinkling constellations above. She felt her stomach turn in horror when she saw that the view was obscured by dense thunder clouds billowing around one single focal point – the last patch of clear sky. There was a low rumble and red streaks of lightning crackled through the clouds, casting a ghoulish glare over the ground. Ash wasn’t a weather expert by any stretch of the imagination, but she was sure that red lightning was a bad omen.

She wasn’t about to wait around for a chance to test her theory. “Take cover!”

Before anyone could dive for shelter, a high-pitched screech seemed to slice through her brain. Ash instinctively clamped her hands over her ears and looked around to see that others were bent-double in apparent agony.

“What...is...happening?” Bhatia muttered through clenched teeth.

Ash found that she couldn’t answer her. She couldn’t think through the pins and needles piercing every millimetre of her brain like hot rods. It was all she could do to stay on her feet; she managed to stagger forward and cling onto a crate for support while the sound of her people’s urgent shouts vaguely registered. Panting heavily, her eyes trailed to a figure writhing on the grass beside her. It was the man in the boxers; he was rubbing his arms as though to generate heat while blood was gushing from his nose.

Realisation hit her like a steam train, knocking all the wind from her lungs. This wasn’t a weather anomaly; they were under attack.

“Attack,” she enunciated slowly, wincing at the sound of her own voice. She tried to shout out to warn her people, but her words were muffled. It was a similar sensation to a dream she sometimes had in which she tried to scream, but failed to produce anything more than a very faint squeak. It was ironic that her worst nightmare was coming to life all around her. She’d counted off the hours with a degree of heightened anxiety ever since Admiral Hackett’s call. They’d escaped attention for this long; just hours before the Alliance pick-up was due to arrive... Whether aid was five minutes or five hours away hardly mattered. They were under attack _now_. They were already a casualty.

Marines were trained to stand firm and laugh death in the face, but what could they do against a seemingly invisible enemy that was preying on their ignorance and fear?

Ash had managed to locate her helmet from her tent. She slapped it on and switched her visor to night-vision perspective. The clouds looked even more menacing in blobs of vivid poisonous green; they must have carried intense heat to show up so brightly. It wasn’t just the heat, but the air seemed to be charged with electricity too. Ash’s face was lined with beads of perspiration, despite her suit’s climate control systems. She watched as the thermal signatures seemed to part, unveiling a massive object protruding from the eye of the storm. All at once it became clear that the red streaks of lightning were the electrical discharges from a spaceship.

“That’s definitely not an Alliance ship,” Bhatia gulped, still recovering from her ordeal.

“No kidding,” Ash muttered. She hadn’t heard of any ship that could whip up hurricanes and pierce skulls with strange signals. _Unless..._ It was a jamming signal of some kind! She glanced around for a glimpse of the comm transponder; “See if you can find the corpsman and signal for help.”

“I’m on it.” Bhatia stayed low as she scuttled across the camp site, crawling over the shuddering forms of marines crippled by the relentless noise in their heads.

Ash adjusted her visor to pick up additional readings when she noted what looked like metal projectiles being fired from the ship. _Oh shit_ , she thought vainly. If they were about to be bombarded from the upper atmosphere, there was no point in trying to run and hide. She was powerless to do anything but stand there, stupefied, and wait for death to rain down on her.

But the ground didn’t shake and the explosions never came. Before Ash could count her lucky stars, Bhatia had struck gold.

“Chief! Over here!”

A hail of plasma-based gunfire erupted from the shadows just as Ash made her move to join her.

“Get down!” Ash sprinted forwards and tackled her to the ground just a fraction of a second too late. She felt the telltale jolt when her suit’s kinetic barriers absorbed damage. Her defences must have buckled since she felt her shoulder sear with pain; she’d been hit, but she’d escaped the brunt of the attack. Beneath her, Bhatia hadn’t fared as well. “Shit! God, no. Nirali!” Her hands trembled as she turned the fried mess of fused armour plating and flesh over and over, searching for a sign of life she knew wouldn’t be there. “Man down! Medic! Anyone?! Medic!”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears; everyone rational enough to wield a rifle was too busy returning fire at an enemy they couldn’t see. She would have to deliver first-aid herself.

“Hang in there,” she ordered Bhatia’s inert body. “Covering fire!” she shouted, making a dash for one of the tents. “Shit.” Bitter tears were leaking from her eyes. Everything was a mess; her people were in trouble and she didn’t know how to help them. Everything had happened so quickly, so suddenly. She cursed the false sense of security Eden Prime had lulled them into; she cursed herself for seeing this posting as a holiday; she cursed Admiral Hackett for not staying true to his word that Alliance relief would come...

The man with the nosebleed was staring blankly at her, eyes glazed over. She thought he was dead. How many others were like him?

Enemy fire was pouring in from the thick veil of trees, picking her people off one by one. She knew she didn’t have time to go back for Bhatia. She hated the cold calculus of it all, but her training dictated that she push all thoughts of the fact that she’d lost friends tonight to the back of her mind. It was her duty to preserve what friends she had left.

“Fall back,” she croaked. “Fall back!” In her desperation, she sprayed a blind volley from her assault rifle. “Corpsman! On me! Corpsman?!”

“Corpsman, front and centre!” a marine passed her orders along. “He’s KIA,” he relayed the response to her.

Ash seized his arm. “Move these people out _now_! Regroup at higher ground; we’re sitting ducks down here! I’ll get the comm transceiver!”

The private looked reluctant to leave her behind.

“Go!” she barked, shoving him away from her. She turned around and started rummaging through the tangled bodies, ignoring the blood staining her suit. She did her utmost to detach herself; forcing herself to objectify the bodies as nameless slabs of meat and not those of friends she had known for over five years. Making quick work of the gruesome task, she was relieved to snatch up the transceiver strapped to the back of the limp corpsman. She prayed to God that it was still in working order. “This is Gunnery-Chief Williams of the Alliance 2nd Frontier Division 212. We’ve been attacked by an unknown enemy. If anyone is hearing this message, please send support. I repeat -”

The force from an explosion behind her threw her face-first into the padding of grass. She wrapped her arms around her head, protecting the most vulnerable part of her body, just before the corners of her mind went dark. Her body was shutting down to preserve what little reserves of strength she had left, and she could only succumb to unconsciousness or die.

 

* * *

 

When her internal alarm clock signalled that it was safe to wake up, Ashley Williams had no sense of the time that had passed. Lifting her face up off the floor, she squinted through her cracked visor and reached up to pull the redundant casing off her head. Her nostrils flared, assaulted by the stench of charred flesh. She groaned as she went through a mental checklist to see if all her limbs were intact. Aside from her wounded shoulder and her aching head, she was in one piece.

That was more than could be said for the camp. She opened her mouth to call out for help, then coughed when she inhaled dust and hot cinders. Had anyone made it out alive? Had they regrouped somewhere safe? Would they come looking for her? She was tempted to slump into the parched grass and perish there, pathetic and undignified. At least she’d be continuing her family’s trend. Her grandfather had been discharged and had withered away on some petty colony. Her father had given up trying to earn an impossible promotion; he had passed away unremarkably. And here she was, hundreds of light-years from her home soil; alone, defeated.

What were her biggest achievements? What would she be remembered for? What about all her hopes and dreams that would be left unfulfilled? She had toiled so hard to lead a distinguished life, and now it had all come to nothing...

She closed her eyes, too dehydrated to spill tears. _That’s it, you big cry-baby. That’s really gonna solve everything, isn’t it?_

She choked when she imagined her old drill instructor, Gunny Ellison, egging her on. _‘You’re a Williams,’_ he had reminded her; _‘Your family’s sweat and blood has stained Shanxi, Sirona, Earth. Now give me one good reason why you deserve to bite the dust here. You think my obstacle course is a bitch? Try going toe-to-toe with turians like your grandfather or slumming it in bogs like your father. You’ve gotta be better than the best if you think I’ll let you fail my course, Williams; now get moving!’_

Ash sniffed. At the time she had very nearly punched the man. Now she wanted to hug him. It was as though a pair of helping hands had formed out of thin air and was dragging her to her feet.

She was a Williams, she reminded herself; she had no time for self-pity. It was time to get moving.

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy_ , entering Eden Prime’s orbit**

Joker and Pressly had identified a strange signature on Eden Prime’s surface. According to the _Normandy_ ’s sensors, the unknown entity was over two kilometres in length and was giving off strange energy readings. Given that there were enemy troops on the ground, it made sense that the structure was a ship. The _Normandy_ wasn’t built to withstand a full-frontal assault with another ship, but Captain Anderson was satisfied with the knowledge that they still maintained an advantage over the enemy; the _Normandy_ ’s stealth system was engaged and so they were impervious to attention, for the time being. The plan was to initiate a covert drop of the ground team, then lie in geo-synchronous orbit until they received word that it was safe to re-enter the atmosphere and pick up the prize.

Captain Anderson had swapped his dress uniform for shirt-sleeves; he’d always harboured a personal dislike of formal dress that was not only impractical on the job, but felt more like a straitjacket – not to mention the fact that his stomach wasn’t as flat as it had been twenty years ago (unfortunately he was coming to an age where his shape no longer matched his fitness). He moved through the ship with purpose and had no inhibitions about clapping an arm or a shoulder and exchanging some casual repartee with his crew rather than being the snobbish breed of captain that governed from the seclusion of their quarters. It was liberating not to be bogged down under the weight of clinking medals; he was satisfied to wear the camouflage of standard fatigues and blend in with the rest. It was also a useful ruse that allowed him to escape attention as he made his way down to the cargo bay to brief the shore party and offer them some final words of wisdom and encouragement. When he arrived, the deckhands were weaving around and carrying out the preparations they had been instructed to make by the CIC. Anderson picked out Nihlus Kryik, Commander Shepard and Lieutenant Alenko over by the lockers, suiting up. They didn’t waste time saluting him when he approached.

“We’re at Stealth-Con 1,” he informed them, getting straight to the point; “which means that comms are suspended unless it’s an absolute emergency – I’ll trust you to use your judgement on what does and doesn’t qualify. Remember; securing the artefact is your top priority. Do not engage the enemy unless it’s a last resort; we still don’t have an idea of troop numbers, but we do know that there are only three of you. We’ve already signalled for Alliance relief forces – they’ll handle the civilians and the clean-up. Once you’re on the ground, you won’t have me in your ear nagging you. Commander, Lieutenant; I expect you to pay attention to everything Nihlus tells you. For all intents and purposes you will now consider him your superior officer; take your direction from him, remember your training and you’ll do fine.” He turned to the Spectre. “The mission’s yours now, Nihlus.”

The turian grasped his forearm in his species’ equivalent of a handshake. “I understand, Captain; we’ll get the job done.”

Anderson nodded; he had faith in the Spectre’s abilities. As a bonus, he had a trustworthy person on the mission.

So far Commander Shepard hadn’t made eye-contact with him once that morning. He wondered whether part of her really had taken offence to his misleading her onto the ship, or whether she was simply trying to focus on the job at hand.

Being on Arcturus Station had seemed to bleach all her features; not only was her skin ghostly white, but her auburn hair had been robbed of the fierce lustre that had once framed a pair of tenacious jade-green eyes. Her racial profile was quite unusual in the current spectrum where dark hair was the rule and everything else was the exception. The fair-haired and blue-eyed combination of the Aryan race that had once been prized was all but extinct. It was amusing to think that alien species regarded humanity as having the broadest genetic diversity, and yet that diversity had dwindled over the years.

He noticed that since last night, she’d traded in the lank, dull locks for a shorter cut – a sight he found baffling. Shepard had once described herself as a piece of driftwood, going wherever the flow took her. She was content to let things simply be rather than try and temper them; she didn’t use a hair-dryer or any products. The deed of removing an iconic piece of her maverick identity seemed to be symbolic; a way to motivate herself for the future while leaving her old life behind.

Shepard was neither tall nor stout; neither a supermodel nor a weed – she was average in most senses of the word. She did, however, possess natural upper body strength – a kind of badge of honour that all spacer kids wore with pride. Children raised on starships were often nicknamed ‘tube monkeys’ for all their swinging from rung to rung between ladders and bars in the ducts on ships before the advent of elevators.

From what he knew of her childhood, Shepard had always been tomboyish. In fact, with her flat chest, straight hips and lack of makeup (save for the occasional eyeliner when she was feeling bold enough to make an effort with her appearance); Anderson had almost mistaken her for a boy when they’d first met. Since her teenage troubles, she’d finally put some meat on her bones and had filled out into a specimen worthy of a woman. He concluded that she was attractive in a modest, unassuming sort of way. Her unpretentious personality and easy manner made her likable, though there was something distinctly unremarkable about her at the same time. Shepard could spark banter in a room full of strangers; changing homes and friends as often as they did, spacer kids were forced to be free of social inhibitions, or else suffer lonely seclusion. In conversation, Shepard never gave anything much of herself away. Her outgoingness was really just a facade; she was one of those people you had to work hard at getting to know properly. But Shepard never stuck around in one place long enough to bother making such an effort. Perhaps that was she only had a select committee of close friends, yet Anderson counted himself proud to be part of her life.

“Good luck down there, Commander,” he lowered his voice so as to have a private word with her, away from the others.

Shepard straightened up and rubbed her brow. She seemed tired, subdued; and Anderson could tell right away that she hadn’t had any shut-eye last night.

“Thank you, sir. To be honest, I was kind of hoping to ease myself back in gently.”

“Nothing like a shit-storm to get you back in the saddle.”

Shepard forced a smile for his benefit. “I guess not.”

Anderson sensed her misgivings – a hesitance that could prove costly if she wasn’t careful. There could be no room for doubt; not when she was standing upon the precipice of greatness. He didn’t want to add to the pressure; her face already looked pale with dread as it was. “Do yourself proud down there, Shepard. You’re a damn fine soldier.” He bent down and retrieved her N7-embossed helmet. “Who’s like us?”

Shepard recognised the prompt. “Damn few,” she replied half-heartedly, not in the mood for all the chest-pounding and bravado of marines.

“And?” Anderson wasn’t about to let her off that easily.

“And they’re all dead,” Shepard sighed.

“Atta girl.” Anderson dropped the helmet in her hands. “I’ve got a bottle of something special with your name on it for when you get back.”

“If I didn’t know better, sir; I’d say you were trying to bribe me _and_ turn me into an alcoholic.”

“I know all your weaknesses,” Anderson chuckled. “Anyway, with any luck, we’ll have some celebrating to do.”

Shepard didn’t want to get ahead of herself; she needed to focus on the present and take each minute as it came. Anderson remembered pre-mission rituals all-to-well. He offered Shepard one more smile and patted her arm before leaving her to mentally get in ‘the zone’. He turned away from her and went to check in on the other Spectre candidate. Anderson hadn’t had much opportunity to get to know any of his crew on a one-to-one basis (though he already knew Commander Shepard as well as the ship’s doctor); a fault he hoped to rectify during his captaincy. Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko may have been forced on him by Ambassador Udina, but that didn’t mean Anderson would hold a grudge against Alenko. It was his policy to treat everyone fairly and without prejudice unless they gave him ample reason not to.

“How’re you feeling, son?”

Alenko tucked his helmet under his arm and smiled appreciatively; it was nice to have a captain who wasn’t above personal touches. “I feel good, sir; I’m ready to go.”

“Glad to hear it.” With his raven hair and handsome face, Anderson thought he was no doubt a ‘heart-throb’; chased after by young women. He had to commend Udina’s astuteness for selecting the perfect poster boy. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alenko shook his hand and bade him farewell as he walked to the elevator – most likely to return to the CIC. There was a moment of commotion as a member of the crew collided with the captain when the door opened. Alenko watched as Corporal Richard Jenkins muttered a hasty apology and sped on his way.

“Lieutenant!” he called out breathlessly, jogging up to him.

“Not now, Jenkins; we’re about to go groundside.”

“I know; I brought you your stims from the doctor.”

Alenko softened his expression; he could hardly be angry at the young corporal for being considerate. Biotic soldiers such as himself required a large calorie intake of 4500 a day. When away on exercises, it was prudent to pack plenty of energy drinks to help them maintain their blood sugar and electrolyte levels. With all the drama, Alenko had completely forgotten. At least he had someone to look out for him. “Thanks.”

As a biotic, he was used to attention – most of it invasive and unwanted. That probably had something to do with the fact that only one in ten human foetuses exposed to element zero developed sufficient biotic potential worth investing in.

Element zero (more commonly just called ‘eezo’) is a special material that releases dark energy – the universal ‘fifth force’ – when exposed to an electrical current. Depending on the positive or negative nature of the current; dark energy could raise or lower the mass of all objects inside the resulting ‘mass effect’ field. The phenomenon of the mass effect was the very foundation of galactic technology and society; its use was varied from facilitating FTL space travel without submitting to the penalties of time dilation, to producing artificial gravity, to developing high-strength construction materials. While a precious commodity; eezo was commonly found in asteroid debris fields that orbit neutron stars and pulsars. The element is generated when the solid matter of a planet, for example, is affected by the energy of a star that is going supernova. Harvesting the resource was a dangerous business thanks to the lethal radiation expelled from the dead star.

The first human biotics were created entirely by tragic accidents. Since eezo is used in drive cores of spaceships (and in fact a lot of other smaller vehicles) it is released in dust-form in, say, the case of an engine disaster. That was the fate of Kaidan’s pregnant mother in Singapore when a transport had crashed, showering the entire town with its waste products on the way down. Kaidan and his twin sister, Rahna, were among the lucky ones.

While it was true that eezo was used by the majority of species to influence biotic powers; exposure to the element didn’t always cultivate biotics. Unfortunately the other nine in ten infants fell victim to brain tumours or worse; crippling physical disabilities that would make their lives short and painful if they were ill-fated enough to survive beyond the womb. Once a biotic was identified (usually by a family doctor who would have to declare the condition to the government), they were given a choice to go willingly with the pair of men in black suits from a shady organisation or spend their lives in seclusion (the soft-sell of prison). They were treated as criminals, guilty of offences they hadn’t even committed.

The late fifties and the sixties may have been a less-than-enlightened era (twenty years had yet to alleviate the misconception), but that was no excuse for the cruel prejudice and harsh treatment. At a time when humanity had only just discovered the biotic mutation, the public were instilled with a sense of terror at the presence of biotics and the threat they potentially posed. It was a ridiculous reputation, though perhaps not entirely undeserved. For every biotic that was kind-natured and wanted to use their powers for good; there were two more intent on causing mischief – whether cheating at casino games or playing pranks on the school bully by pulling their chair out from under them and having a good snigger about it.

The response had been catastrophic; frightened mortals had formed lynch mobs and had hunted down and killed biotics. So, on his and Rahna’s tenth birthday, Kaidan and his sister had cooperated with the men in black suits. They’d left their home, their family (they hadn’t had any friends except for each other since they were home-schooled). They were lured with the promise that they would have a new family and new friends – all just as freaky as they were. The last thing Kaidan remembered about leaving home was the sound of his mother’s inconsolable sobs as she begged and pleaded with the agents not to take her children away. His father had had to resort to holding her back, lest the men hit her. Kaidan remembered how his father had tried so hard to hide his family from the world; they had lived outside the reaches of normal civilisation, living without modern technology and friends, all just for the sake of staying together.

And so began their new life in the so-called ‘better place’. Gagarin Station, home to the Biotic Acclimation and Temperance training program, was a wondrous place filled with children and teenagers exactly as the men had promised. It wasn’t, however, a safe haven for biotics. They were the objects of intense scrutiny while being pushed to ruthless limits in order to showcase their talents. Fresh off the transport from Earth, Kaidan and his sister had been herded into a lab where they had been surgically implanted with amplifiers. Before they had even recuperated, they had been locked inside a classroom to begin biofeedback therapy which would help them develop conscious control over their nervous system in order to send electrical impulses to the eezo nodules embedded in their tissue, thereby producing dark energy distortions on a whim.

Kaidan had been raised thereafter to think that there was no other life for a biotic. It was a hell of an ultimatum; train for combat or go to jail – if you wandered the streets on Earth, you were likely to get stabbed. Fortunately the Alliance military had offered enticing enlistment benefits. They could offer a home and a career where biotics were prized and coveted rather than shunned and distrusted. Kaidan had been put forth for officer’s academy as soon as he had signed his name on the dotted line. The Alliance prided itself on recognising potential. But since Kaidan had never had much practice at socialising during his youth, he was shy and tended to cower from the limelight. His skills were undoubtedly appreciated by the Alliance, but many of his colleagues went out of their way to avoid him. It was only Corporal Richard Jenkins who thought him some kind of superhero; the young man had been eager to perform little favours like polishing his boots or organising his inventory so that he could befriend him and feel proud whenever Kaidan sat next to him in the mess or for a game of poker. Somehow Kaidan wasn’t uncomfortable with the admiration; in fact he rather enjoyed it. Jenkins was perhaps the first person ever (besides his parents and sister) that hadn’t regarded him as a dangerous mutant.

Corporal Jenkins beamed at him, glad to be useful. He stole a glance at Commander Shepard and Spectre Nihlus Kryik as they were selecting their gear. “I wanna come with you.”

“What?” Kaidan had to chuckle. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Jenkins, but we’re going on a training mission – just the three of us. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to get stuck in,” he added quickly when he saw that the corporal had lowered his chin, crestfallen.

Jenkins deflated for a moment, then looked up with renewed hope. “But that doesn’t explain why the captain’s ordered a Stealth-Con 1,” he said matter-of-factly. “Training scenarios are restricted to a Stealth-Con 3 so as not to waste resources. Stealth-Con 1 also means no radio contact, and it’s procedure during training exercises to maintain an open comm channel at all times – it says so in the manual, sir.”

Kaidan forced a smile, doing his utmost to try and let him down gently. “The captain’s excited to test out the ship’s systems, and it means we get to make this scenario as realistic as possible. What the admirals don’t know won’t hurt them if you catch my meaning.”

Jenkins wasn’t buying into his act. “How come you’ve got a Spectre with you? Whatever you’re doing _must_ be important.”

“You have an over-active imagination; it’s just a routine exercise.”

Jenkins cast his gaze around the cargo bay to check that they were beyond the immediate earshot of the others, and lowered his voice for extra measure. “Look, I heard from one of the guys in the CIC that you’re on a special mission to pick up a package from the planet surface. There’re rumours that it’s something Prothean.”

Kaidan retained his cool composure though it was increasingly difficult now that the cat was out of the bag. “I wouldn’t put any stock in rumours if I were you, Jenkins.”

“But -”

“What’s going on here?”

Kaidan was quite relieved that Commander Shepard had stepped in to spare him from having to lie further.

“Commander,” Jenkins straightened up enthusiastically; “you’re looking for a Prothean artefact, right? I remember this place I used to play at when I was a kid; I always thought the stones there were part of ancient ruins. I can take you there.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow; the Prothean artefact was supposed to be strictly classified and she had no doubt that Lt Alenko had already explained the ‘training scenario’ the staff in the CIC had been ordered to maintain. “As soon as I find out who gave you that information, I’m going to revoke their off-duty privileges. But you’re not entirely up to speed; the artefact’s been moved to a spaceport where the _Normandy_ was supposed to pick it up from if it weren’t for the ship that’s on the surface.”

Kaidan looked sharply at her, scarcely able to believe that she had just violated the captain’s orders so casually. So much for keeping up the pretence.

“I know where the spaceport is,” Jenkins said quickly. “I was born and raised on Eden Prime, ma’am; I know the terrain like the back of my hand. I can be like your tour guide. If you wanna get somewhere quickly while avoiding attention, I know all the best routes to take. Please, Commander; let me come with you. I promise to keep my head down and follow your orders. The lieutenant can vouch for me.”

Shepard turned to Kaidan who shrugged weakly.

“I guess another pair of eyes couldn’t hurt.”

“Alright, Corporal,” Shepard sighed; “you’ve made your case. Grab a rifle and some ammo. But if you so much as jaywalk on this mission, I’ll have you demoted and placed on cleaning duty for the rest of your life. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenkins failed to suppress a wide smirk as he saluted her. “Thank you, ma’am. I won’t let you down.”

Kaidan had to wonder why he was such a soft touch – a trait that earned him a rebuke from the turian Spectre.

“What’s this?” Nihlus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “The captain didn’t say anything about extending my responsibility to another person.”

“He’s with me,” Kaidan spoke up, clutching Jenkins’s shoulder as though to stake a literal claim of him.

“I can take you to the spaceport,” Jenkins added to sweeten the deal.

The turian looked him over, sizing him up. It wasn’t clear what the requirements for the examination were, but apparently Corporal Jenkins passed. “So be it,” Nihlus conceded.

Jenkins grinned, ecstatic that the Spectre approved of him. “Wow. I never dreamed I’d get the chance to see a Spectre up close! Which manufacturer do you use for your weapons and armour? Do you have a special uniform? According to the vids, a Spectre’s worth _twenty_ ordinary soldiers. Of course Lieutenant Alenko is a biotic, so he probably -”

“Form up, Corporal,” Kaidan squeezed his shoulder to silence him when Nihlus shot them both a glare.

Jenkins was unperturbed; he was still too young and inexperienced to know when to leave banter behind in the mess hall and behave like a disciplined professional.

“Right. Let me just...”

Kaidan handed him a pack and a standard-issue M-7 Lancer Assault Rifle from the Alliance’s manufacturer of choice, Hahne-Kedar. “Stick close by me, okay, Jenkins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad.”

 _“We are approaching the drop point,”_ Joker announced over their hardsuit radios.

At the signal, the three humans and lone turian jammed helmets on their heads, sealed their visors and held on to the safety railings while the bay door opened up and natural light funnelled inside.

Grateful for the prospect of catching a reprieve from the stale, recycled starship air for a few hours; Kaidan felt inspired. He still didn’t know what he had done to set him apart from billions of others humans (aside from being a biotic) to make him deserving of an opportunity to represent his species in the Spectres. But he couldn’t deny the bolstering effects his present company had on him – Nihlus, a distinguished Spectre; Commander Shepard, hero of the Skyllian Blitz; Richard Jenkins, a cherished friend.

Taking a deep, courage-infused breath; he turned to Shepard and extended his hand. “Commander, I never got to say good luck. Whatever happens down there, I’m honoured to share this privilege with you. I know either one of us would make a good Spectre.”

He couldn’t see her face with her visor pulled down. “This isn’t a contest, Lieutenant,” she said evenly.

He backpedalled for a moment, wondering whether it was wrong to be excited and competitive when the colonists on Eden Prime were in trouble. Emergency or not, however; Nihlus was still inspecting them. “I guess not,” he admitted. Whatever transpired on the planet surface was in destiny’s hands now.

 

* * *

 

With all the interference playing havoc with the _Normandy_ ’s sensors, the best Joker could do was drop them off a safe distance away from the unidentified – and presumably hostile – ship that was parked at one of the large industrial locales. Unfortunately this meant that the ground team was facing a long trip on foot, and they were working against the clock. The _Normandy_ ’s heat sinks couldn’t hold the emissions from their FTL trip forever. In a few hours they would have no option but to vent the sinks, thereby giving away their position. The ground team would have to move quickly and avoid enemy patrols. Once they reached the spaceport, they would set a beacon and hold position until Joker came to pick them up – then the _Normandy_ would high-tail it out of there and return to the Citadel.

As soon as their boots had hit the ground, Nihlus led the group into formation and assigned everyone their squad positions in order to ‘streamline unit cohesion’ as he called it. ‘Turians and their obsession with martial discipline’ was what humans called it.

Corporal Jenkins had already volunteered himself to be the scout; he was better-qualified to lead them through terrain they had no knowledge of. As a biotic, Lt Alenko specialised in precision strikes; Nihlus positioned him in the middle of the group while Commander Shepard brought up the rear. Shepard unsealed her helmet visor, taking a long whiff – the smell of freshly-cut grass was one of her favourites. But her nostalgia was overshadowed by the obvious gatecrasher in the upper atmosphere.

“We’ve never had weather like this before,” Jenkins peered up at the dense, foreboding clouds. “Normally you can wear shorts and a t-shirt all year round.”

“The place looks beautiful,” Shepard agreed. She imagined that Jenkins had been able to play ball games on the grass and go for swims in natural lakes.

“I guess. But life here was a little _too_ comfortable if you ask me. Even paradise gets boring after a while, so I joined the Alliance for a change of pace.”

“Cut the chatter,” Nihlus reproached him. “We’re here to find the artefact, not sight-see. How far are we from the spaceport?”

“You’ll be able to see it soon. It’s just over -” Jenkins broke off abruptly as he climbed to the peak of the hill and looked out over his childhood home.

All around, as far as the eye could see, the once-green fields of paradise were burning. Clumps of debris rained through the air while plumes of smoke distorted the skyline. The shining lights of the colony were blotted out from all the haze and smog generated by the flames licking at the populated arcologies, commercial buildings and peaceful farmsteads. The unknown attackers had laid waste to everything, everyone.

Shepard, Kaidan and Nihlus all saw what he saw. The emotional impact wasn’t lost on the two humans, while even the turian maintained a reverent silence.

The atmosphere between them was permeated by a mutual feeling of unease. Aside from the smouldering fires, the colony was unnaturally still. By Pressly’s estimations, the distress call the _Normandy_ had received had been lying in the comm buoy’s buffer for at least a few hours. They’d arrived too late...

From somewhere nearby they heard the feeble bleats of a wounded animal as it lay dying.

Kaidan grimaced dolefully and stepped up beside Jenkins so that he could reach out to his shoulder. “Richard...”

Jenkins was too transfixed on the carnage to register his sympathies. Only one thought occurred to him when he bolted on ahead of them: “My folks...”

 

* * *

 

Nihlus had already expressed his disapproval of Jenkins’s recklessness, but he had little choice but to match his pace since everyone had abandoned his carefully-constructed formation and showed no regard for possible enemy ambushers lying in wait. He gave up thinking futile protests in his head when the trio of humans came to a halt.

The corridor of trees and shrubbery had branched out onto what appeared to be a clearing with pre-fab housing units dotted around the central feature of a water fountain. On the far side of the square there was a row of spikes with bodies of the dead impaled upon them.

Shepard was gripped by a sudden memory of the reports of how her father had beheaded the batarians on Torfan and put their heads on pikes...

“God,” Kaidan muttered, startling Shepard into thinking he was referring to her thoughts. But Kaidan was not a mind-reader; he was simply adjusting his helmet filters to blast cold air on his face as he did his utmost not to gag. “Why would anyone do that?”

“It would seem to indicate some kind of ritual behaviour,” Nihlus commented; “or perhaps displaying the dead as trophies.”

 _Trophies_ , thought Shepard. Her father had been determined to send a message.

Kaidan shook his head. “That’s barbaric – a final insult. Once they’re dead, they’re dead. There’s no need to desecrate their bodies further.”

Shepard shifted her feet uncomfortably and wheeled away from the display, pretending to be interested in checking out a fallen girder from a nearby tower of housing units.

“I’m sure this would spark a fascinating academic debate,” the turian noted dryly; “but we must not digress from our purpose here. We must -”

“No!”

Nihlus didn’t appreciate being interrupted mid-sentence. He looked round as Corporal Jenkins darted past him to one of the torched arcologies.

“God, no...” Jenkins loosened the grip on his rifle, scarcely caring that he was violating a marine’s number one rule to never abandon his weapon; and sank to his knees. “No... That’s my home...”

 

* * *

 

Since he was utterly insistent on trying to salvage something – anything – from the ruins; the team had temporarily settled for a rest-stop. While Kaidan was helping Jenkins deal with his grief, Shepard had taken up stag duty. For the first time since stepping back into frontline duty, she was grateful to have a moment to herself to gather her thoughts.

Shepard didn’t pretend to relate to Jenkins’s grief; she could only be grateful that she would never experience his kind of pain. For her, home was wherever she happened to be. Her relationships with the ships and stations she had grown up on had been symbiotic; they were movable objects, containers, as opposed to permanent structures and nurturing soils.

She couldn’t, however, deny that she had sometimes imagined what it would be like to put down roots on somewhere like Elysium – until she’d been a witness to the destruction there at the hands of batarians and pirates from the lawless Terminus Systems. Her shore leave on the colony there seven years ago that should’ve been filled with sex and the promise of a deeper commitment had turned out quite different.

Looking back now, Shepard knew that she should’ve kept her relationship with Sam Traynor on Earth as just one of those holiday romances. The fact that they were in different departments within the Alliance and came from vastly different backgrounds should have spoken volumes. Being mismatched wasn’t always disastrous, however. Shepard had been infinitely fascinated by Sam who had grown up with the structure that Shepard had lacked, and yet had still chosen to travel away from home. That wasn’t to say her personal goals were equally as adventurous; she was a well-rounded woman who had wanted a nine-to-five job, kids and a dog. She was definitely a keeper, and, unfortunately Shepard had taken her for granted. She’d been too young in her early twenty years; too naive to know the difference between life’s pleasures and hardships; too restless to settle down; too selfish to place another’s welfares and dreams above her own.

She hadn’t been ready to commit after all, and Sam hadn’t been prepared to wait for her to figure out what it was she really wanted from life. Shepard had tried to cling on for as long as possible, even as their feelings had deteriorated and seeped through her fingers. Gradually Sam had come to realise that her words over a vid-call were insincere and cowardly. She couldn’t waste her life on someone unreliable – and Shepard was exactly that.

She’d been wakeful in her bunk all night wondering why Anderson had given her this burden. Was it his deluded way of doing her a favour? Or did he intend for her to make up where he had failed twenty years ago? Shepard recalled the sombre way he had mentioned his mission with Saren – a shame he had carried with him all this time. Was it about redemption or was it about him living through her?

Shepard silently chided herself; now was hardly the time or place to feel sorry for herself. After all, she’d made the choice to own nothing and have no one. She had no shortage of friends – but even they were temporary, often fleeting presences in the grand scheme of things. Maintaining a relationship took time, effort and dedication. If she hadn’t had Anderson to drive her and convince her that, yes, she did have ambitions worth fighting for; she probably would’ve fallen by the wayside and never lifted her face from the toilet bowl. There were very few people she could really depend on to be there for her when she needed them. Anderson had been right; Shepard was like him. She belonged in the navy with other people like her – people without solid ground under their feet; people who didn’t let themselves get tied down by material possessions or social attachments of any kind. She supposed that she had instinctively sought out friends who were as ill-fitting in the galaxy as she was – people like Joker. If he had started to rely on her, she would undoubtedly let him down – just like she had her mom, Sam... She had less to lose if she snubbed her human emotions altogether.

The truth was that she drank in the whole sight of the flaming debris, the impaled civilians...and felt numb. It wasn’t that she didn’t care; it was that she had grown so used to it.

She spared a glance at the row of spikes.

 _‘How can you stand to look at things like this every day and claim that you’re normal?’_ Sam had asked her on Elysium. _‘I can’t possibly pretend to understand what you do or how you do it.’_

Shepard closed her eyes over the memory of Sam’s face as they had gone their separate ways, and sighed heavily just as Nihlus approached. She couldn’t find the inner strength to straighten up off the wall and acknowledge him. Then again, hiding was what she did best...

“Commander. I understand that your colleague is upset, but we cannot afford to linger here.”

Shepard opened her eyes and nodded. “Did you find anything about who did this?”

“No; whoever did this was nothing if not thorough,” he admitted grimly. “Killing unarmed civilians and children is dishonourable. One aspect of the nature of my species is that we abhor dishonour. This was a slaughter; not a fair conflict.”

“Is there such a thing as a fair conflict?” Shepard posed, amazed that she was having a philosophical discussion with an alien.

“War is terrible,” Nihlus agreed; “but sometimes necessary. Regardless, these people were innocent. Their sacrifice will be remembered.”

What was he talking about? “Sacrifice?”

“Yes; thanks to the Prothean artefact, their deaths will not be in vain.”

Shepard clenched her jaw in disgust. “These people didn’t even know why they were targeted for death. I think if they’d had their way, they’d have chosen to have nothing to do with the damn Prothean artefact.”

“Perhaps.”

Shepard caught a figure hovering in the corner of her eye. “Lieutenant?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Kaidan said anxiously. “I found this among the debris – it looks a lot different from the construction materials around here.”

Nihlus reached out to take the metal object from his hands and turned it over. “It looks like some kind of photoreceptor, almost like...” He trailed off while his mandibles quivered with unease.

“Like what?” Shepard pressed; she hated being in the dark.

“It can’t be,” Nihlus had lowered his voice to a shade above a whisper. “The geth haven’t been seen beyond the Perseus Veil for over three centuries,” he mused. “Why now? What is it they want?” He looked up in time to greet the bewildered stares of the two humans.

“The artefact,” everyone muttered in unison.

“But why would geth be interested in Prothean technology?” Nihlus continued.

“Who _are_ the geth?” Kaidan inquired. Humans weren’t quite up to speed on all the species in the galaxy.

“They are a synthetic race created by the Quarians to act as slave labour. When they developed sapience, they rebelled and drove the Quarians into exile. While it’s true that the geth would be capable enough of hacking into our transmissions, I still don’t see why they would have an interest in something Prothean – something from an organic race. There has to be another link that we’re missing.”

“There’s only one way to find out for sure,” Shepard reminded him. “Corporal Jenkins!” she raised her voice; “We’re moving out!”

When there was neither assent nor a response of any kind, Kaidan spun round. “Jenkins?”

Shepard started to follow his gaze when her eyes were snagged by a more disturbing sight. Her stomach lurched when she saw that the tall spikes on the other side of the square had retracted and were now seemingly vacant of decomposing occupants. “Alenko,” she gripped Kaidan’s shoulder urgently. _What the hell? Where did they go?_ She’d gazed at them at length not five minutes ago...

Nihlus’s mandibles were now twitching on overdrive.

“Mum, Dad...it’s me.”

Shepard sourced Jenkins out and had to blink twice to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Two bodies of the dead weren’t so lifeless anymore; in fact they were very much animated and wobbling toward him. Their flesh was emaciated and discoloured a charcoal grey, and there were what appeared to be florescent tubes protruding from the withered tissue.

“Richard, get back!” Kaidan voiced her thoughts exactly.

Shepard raised her rifle into her shoulder. “Jenkins, that’s an order!”

The young corporal was seemingly deaf to their shouts. “Dad?” He tried reaching out to – for want of a better term – the husk of a former human being.

“Richard, no!” Kaidan cried just as the pair of husks leapt through the air and latched onto Jenkins, wrestling him down onto the ground as they scratched and tore at him.

Jenkins’s yells were muffled as he writhed beneath them, desperately trying to fight them off.

“Do something!” Kaidan croaked, paralysed on the spot.

Nihlus stepped forward and aimed his handgun. One husk exploded from a direct shot to its cranium and Jenkins screamed in horror.

Shepard picked off the other one with a controlled burst from her assault rifle. “Those things were _not_ your parents.”

Jenkins whimpered softly, too shocked to speak.

“What were they?” Kaidan shuddered just thinking about it. “Richard, you okay? Get back here.”

But the young corporal was shaking uncontrollably; he seemed to be beyond all reason.

“Richard, focus on the sound of my voice,” Kaidan tried to reassure him. “You’re okay. Come back here where it’s safe.”

Jenkins looked round at him and gave an imprecise jerk.

“Good lad.”

Shepard watched the scene unfolding with a kind of stupefied horror.

Dragging himself along the ground, Jenkins was making good ground until he looked up and saw the alarm in their faces. He gulped and looked over his shoulder, only to see a horde of twenty of the reanimated colonists assembling behind him.

In that moment there was complete silence on both sides of the square.

Shepard knew that the four of them had been targeted as prey. Apparently their hunters seemed confident of their helplessness; there was nowhere to run.

“Don’t leave me,” Jenkins whispered. “Don’t...”

“It’s alright,” Kaidan held his hand out. “Come on. Nice and easy.”

Jenkins continued his scramble to safety when a shrill cry pierced the air and the husks sprang into action simultaneously.

“Richard!”

“Don’t leave me!”

“Fire!” Nihlus barked.

Shepard held down the trigger of her rifle, but there were just too many of them to hit at once.

Jenkins threw himself flat on the ground to avoid getting hit by the collective volley of gunfire.

As one husk fell, another climbed over the growing heap. They were agile, predatory, and driven by an incessant hunger to stifle Jenkins who yelped when they tugged on his boots.

“Get off me!” he tried kicking his feet. Shaking one off him was a small victory when five more jumped on him.

The last they saw of Jenkins was a flailing arm as the husks covered him and hacked him to pieces.

“There’s too many of them!” Shepard vented the heat sink in her rifle and slotted in a fresh thermal clip; meanwhile Nihlus had exchanged his handgun for a rapid-fire assault rifle. Shepard wondered if their combined firepower could mow them all down in time...

“Suppressive fire!” Nihlus ordered.

Without warning Kaidan stepped up between them and threw his arms out. Biotic abilities were triggered using physical mnemonics – a technique to fire neurons in a certain sequence, sending an electrical charge through their nervous systems to the eezo modules and thereby manipulating dark energy. The result of Kaidan’s gesture was a cascading blue wave of biotic power hurtling toward the crowd. The husks were bowled over by the sheer force of his attack and presented Nihlus and Shepard with ample opportunity to make sure that they never got back up.

Kaidan was panting heavily after his exertion. The Alliance outfitted most of their biotics with the latest L3 implants which, although safer than earlier models, were not so powerful. Older generations of biotics, such as Kaidan, were wired with the L2 configuration. Although L2 biotics were significantly more potent, they were subject to side effects like severe mental disabilities and nigh-on unbearable physical pain. Kaidan had had the opportunity to go back under the knife, but he hadn’t wanted to risk further brain damage. He had drawn his lot and tried to make the best of it.

“Impressive,” the turian Spectre applauded him, wiping his forehead now that the immediate danger had passed.

Kaidan barely nodded, pumped up on adrenaline and ready to attack anything that moved. He wasn’t going to hold back, not after...

“Richard...” Staggering forwards to the mess of shredded flesh on the ground, Kaidan bent over and violently vomited into the grass. Jenkins was unrecognisable; the husks had torn through his combat suit as though it had been tissue paper. His chest had been ripped open; his internal organs splayed and mashed. “God...” Kaidan fell to his knees and tried to locate a stretch of flesh that wasn’t covered in blood. “Why did I let you come?”

Nihlus seized his shoulder. “Compose yourself, Lieutenant; soldiers die in battle all the time.” He tilted his head and sighed, deciding to change tack. “I’m sorry for your loss, but the mission takes priority. Leave a signal and the cleanup crews will retrieve his body. You can mourn him later.”

Shepard hated to admit it, but Nihlus had a point. “Kaidan,” she murmured softly; “he’s right. We’ve gotta get out of here before more of those things show up.”

“I don’t want to leave him like this...” Kaidan bowed his head in submission and allowed the turian to haul him up to his feet while the commander set about placing a homing beacon beside Jenkins’s mangled remains.

Shepard swallowed gingerly; her stomach felt decidedly fragile. “I’d say this qualifies as an emergency, don’t you?” She reached up and tapped the side of her helmet. “Shepard to _Normandy_ , do you copy? _Normandy_ , come in.” Her heart was pounding and the radio silence only served to aggravate her further. “Damn it! Where are you, Anderson?”

Nihlus reached out to her arm. “The enemy ship must be responsible for the interference; the geth are expert at jamming communications. Handling this mission alone was not unanticipated, Commander; we must proceed as planned.”

“And if the enemy has turned the whole colony into mindless foot soldiers, we’ll never make it.”

“We can increase our chances by splitting up,” Nihlus pointed out.

Shepard had had no issues with obeying the Spectre’s orders thus far, but now she felt compelled to speak her mind. “Are you crazy? Didn’t you see what they just did to Jenkins?”

“Yes I did, Commander; which is why it would be prudent to give them more than one target to chase. It will increase our chances of at least one of us making it to the spaceport.”

“That’s comforting,” Shepard’s voice dripped with uncensored sarcasm.

“A Spectre must often face adversity alone. Part of becoming a Spectre is learning to rely on your own courage and strength. Even if the odds are stacked against a Spectre, he must find a way to prevail. You and Lieutenant Alenko are currently experiencing irrational fear; you must learn to turn that fear into something productive.”

“I don’t give a vorcha’s ass about what it means to be a Spectre!” Shepard retorted. “I never asked to be here.”

The turian’s patience snapped since he reached out and clasped her neck in his talons. “No, perhaps you didn’t. But you _are_ here whether you like it or not. It is up to you to make the best of the situation. If you wish to honour your dead teammate and the victims here, I suggest you bury your fears and start behaving like the competent soldier your file seems to portray you as.”

Shepard held her tongue and nodded in submission.

Nihlus studied her intently before he was entirely satisfied that she had pulled herself together. He released her and took a step back. “You two can stick together. Head for the spaceport.”

Shepard stretched her sore neck from side to side. “Where will you be?”

“I will go after that ship and see if I can find a way to disrupt their jamming protocols while creating a diversion for you. Do not waste the opportunity. I move fast on my own but you must move faster.” Turians didn’t usually employ stealth; there was no honour to taking an enemy from behind. But Nihlus was a Spectre and had adapted to many unorthodox methods in order to achieve his goals.

Shepard didn’t much like his idea, but now was hardly the time to start an argument she wouldn’t win. She reminded herself what Anderson had said about Nihlus being in charge. “Fine. We’ve still got local signal coverage; remember to keep in radio contact.”

Nihlus nodded. “Good luck.”


	5. The Prophet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Elements of Saren's portion in this chapter are based on the comic Mass Effect: Evolution.  
> Just a note that there are some swear words in this chapter - you have been warned (I don't want to get told off by your parents if you happen to be underage).

**Chapter 5**

 

**_SSV Normandy SR-1_ ** **, in geo-synchronous orbit around Eden Prime**

Stealth-Con 1 was the highest state of alert the _Normandy_ could be on. As a frigate specialising in stealth reconnaissance, she was outfitted with every possible measure to make her appear invisible to anyone looking. Finding objects in space predominantly relied on sensors since the naked eye was unreliable; too small to gauge the vastness of space. The most detectable quantity in space was not light, but heat. Every shipboard activity produced heat emissions; hence _Normandy_ 's groundbreaking stealth systems were designed to capture and store those emissions for as long as possible.

And so the ship was 'running silent' – as the layman put it – with no unnecessary activities. Only Deck 1 with the CIC; the bridge and the cockpit, along with Engineering on Deck 3 were functioning. Even the medbay was restricted to Grey Mode – activated only if there was a medical emergency. Non-essential crew facilities were shut down, including the artificial gravity systems on the crew deck – any and all means were taken to ensure economical performance. In order to help the crew navigate their way, floors were painted a different colour from the walls and ceiling. Of course all navy personnel were zee-gee certified; but what was an inconvenience to the majority was to become a way of life on a ship whose main weapon was evading detection rather than engaging in direct combat.

Lounging in his chair at the helm of the ship, Joker didn't have to worry about enacting the comical rendition of a cripple rolling aimlessly around for hours. He wore a special kind of supportive leg braces beneath his uniform trousers to help him walk around; but in a zero gravity atmosphere they would snap him up like a straitjacket. Fortunately he had an altogether more pressing concern on his mind, and it had nothing to do with the mission (which no one had bothered to include him in until shit had hit the fan). It came as no surprise to him that Shepard was at the forefront of all the intrigue; but Joker's mood was soured after the captain had ordered him to report to the doctor to be fitted with sub-dermal implants that would allow him to interface with the ship's holographic technology. He should've been used to being probed and prodded in a lab, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. The ship's doctor had smiled a little too suspiciously for his liking when she had eagerly pricked each of his fingertips. Now he wiggled and flexed his fingers, scrutinising the faint dimples from the injections. He couldn't help but imagine microscopic machines invading and assimilating his DNA to turn him into a cyborg.

It wasn't inaccurate to say that Joker had a streak of hypochondria in him, sometimes bordering on paranoia. As a resident of space, he'd been forced to get over his fear of pressure seals suddenly failing and his organs liquefying from vacuum exposure. He'd fought his fear aggressively by becoming a pilot; after flying a fighter craft at mach velocities and having his organs pasted across the back of his fragile rib cage, nothing else was quite as frightening – or exciting. Still, he wouldn't get over his obsessive-compulsive disorder quite as easily.

It always came back to 'the Man' trying to control every aspect of people's lives – or in the case of the military; a bunch of generals and admirals who thought they knew best. Soldiers couldn't use the toilet or breathe without permission first. He was greatly disturbed by the fact that he didn't have control over what went into his body – and this time it had nothing to do with the awful chow. Puppy-dog eyes and a quivering lip had never bought him sympathy points before now; there was no reason to expect any kind of compassion from the military. Joker had learned the hard way that it was all about survival of the fittest. He didn't exactly have any advantages in that department. Had he been born a hundred years ago with his current condition of Vrolik's Syndrome, he wouldn't have survived past infancy. Much as the Human Systems Alliance liked to complain about aliens and their alien ways having detrimental effects on human principles; the truth was that Joker owed his existence to aliens and their superior technologies. The asari in particular were so advanced and enlightened that they had eliminated all strains of disease native to their species.

As it was; he hadn't signed up in the Alliance to win admiration for overcoming the odds against him, nor had he joined to explore space and thank the aliens who had made his life possible. His reasons for serving were less grandiose; he wouldn't have been on Arcturus Station in the first place if it hadn't been for his mother's love of incessant travel – the woman couldn't stay tied down in one place for long. As a civilian contractor, Joker's mother had volunteered for the civilian detail working on Arcturus (the Alliance marines were too busy scouting and defending against possible hostile threats to be able to maintain the station for themselves).

Joker wished that he had been the product of an immaculate conception; it hadn't helped him growing up with a mother that was known as the station's bike, or that he had been born a runt – enough to shame any marine into denying that he was the father. Amazingly Joker _had_ had a fatherly figure in his life – a man stupid and gullible enough to let Joker's mom take advantage of his kindness and unrequited infatuation. He had eventually come to his senses and left when he had caught Joker's mom in bed with one of the station's admirals (not for the first time). Joker could hardly blame the man he came to know as his father for settling down on an outlying colony called Tiptree – somewhere with permanence and normality – and Joker had a standing invitation to come visit anytime he wanted, especially now that he had a younger half sister whom he was happy to mould into an aspiring pilot.

Joker could only speculate what part of the galaxy his estranged mother was sleeping with now; it was the same story every time, only with a different man and a new venue. He had stopped wondering about her a long time ago when it became clear that she didn't deserve to share his triumphs if she wasn't there to share his trials. Nope; Joker didn't need her. He had been adopted by a man whose DNA he didn't share, and alien medicine had prolonged his life. It wasn't a perfect existence by any means, yet he could hardly complain when he was sitting at the helm of not only the most advanced space vehicle in the Alliance Navy; but one of the most advanced spaceships in the _entire_ galaxy. Not too shabby for a man whose own mother had written him off.

There wasn't a great deal to do while the ground team was off earning their next medals. Joker had to roll his eyes at the staff in the CIC holding their breath as though the whole mission were a matter of life and death. He was more worried about the sensation of pins-and-needles in his hands as the nanotechnology – or whatever it was – assimilated his system.

"Crap," he muttered, kicking open his personal compartment under the console in front of him and locating his mirror. He wasn't vain about his appearance; he was just paranoid that he would have machine implants sprouting out of his skin. What other changes had the doctor made to him? His first point of call was to check on the progress of his other assertion of individuality – his beard. If the Alliance brass told him to shave it off, that would be the last straw. "That's one handsome pilot if ever I saw one," he remarked, relieved that every hair follicle and skin cell seemed to be in place. He turned his head to get a good side-on view and abruptly lowered the mirror when he caught Captain Anderson's reflection over his shoulder. "Damn, you trying to give me a heart attack? – _Sir_ ," he added quickly. He hadn't heard any declarations of 'captain on the bridge!'. Just how long had he been standing there?

Anderson had to shake his head. "What _are_ you doing?"

Joker grinned and stroked the thick growth forming a beard. "I've been working on this baby for seven weeks."

"So I see."

Joker stowed the mirror back inside his personal compartment and sat back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and sighing heavily. "So...was there something you wanted, Captain?" He wasn't sure what to make of the captain. According to a gushing Mr Pressly, Anderson could melt down all his medals and built a life-sized statue of himself. Joker was decidedly less impressed. In his experience, medals had a way of going to people's heads – or at the very least they turned an ordinary person into an idol of worship. The captain may have come as a pre-packed hero, but Joker would only respect his rank and nothing else until Anderson earned his personal respect.

"It's my ship, Flight-Lieutenant; I can go where I want and speak to whoever I want."

Joker failed to stifle a snort. "Are you sure about that, sir?"

"Excuse me?"

"If the Admirals aren't planning your every step, we've got Council Spectres strutting around like they own the place."

The captain was used to listening to concerns about their turian guest. "Turians live by a complex meritocracy system; I doubt you'll catch Nihlus strutting. He may be a Spectre, but he got booted out the turian military."

"Let me guess; not enough red carpet."

Anderson folded his arms and shook his head. "Disobedience and reckless conduct."

"Really?" Joker was privately amused. "So we're getting lumped with the turians' crazy rejects? – And he's in charge of the shore party? Are we actually sure that we can trust him?"

"Anything involving something Prothean has the highest priority level as far as the Council is concerned. They wouldn't have assigned Nihlus to this mission if they didn't trust him."

"The Council," Joker mused aloud. "Well now I feel ten times better putting my life in the service of a bunch of prissy politicians who don't even know what a hot dog is. You tell me, Captain; how can I trust a person who has never eaten a hot dog?"

Anderson had heard the argument a hundred times before, just worded differently. Because aliens had different customs; they couldn't possibly understand humanity and were therefore untrustworthy. Anderson could imagine that somewhere out there, their alien equivalents were sitting on a ship and saying the same thing about humans. The galaxy was indisputably diverse; there were bound to be differences in thought patters, cuisine, culture, religion. Conflicts were started over differences because no one bothered to try and find common ground. Anderson was sure that there were similarities to be found, somewhere. They all shared this galaxy, after all.

"Trust works both ways, Lieutenant. Sometimes you have to take a risk, give the benefit of the doubt."

"Yeah, well...let's just hope we don't get burned." Joker returned his attention to the helm, fully expecting their conversation to be over and for the captain to leave. He was surprised when the captain lingered; he forced himself to stay quiet, even when he found the captain's presence distracting.

"What about you?" Anderson offered, finding Joker equally difficult.

"What about me?"

Anderson shook his head. "You don't make this easy, son."

"I'm not really good at the whole small-talk thing, sir. All you need to know is that I'm more than qualified to pilot this ship."

"Is that so, Flight-Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir; it is. I worked my ass off in flight school. Top of my class? – I earned that. All my commendations? – I earned every single one."

"I've seen your file," Anderson admitted. He had taken Flight-Lieutenant Moreau on by recommendation from Commander Shepard, and so it had been a necessity to check the man's credentials. "You've got impressive technical scores, but front-line duty is a lot different from a combat sim."

Joker did his utmost not to deride the captain's ignorance. "Look, Captain...everyone knew that I was better than the instructors – I could've been teaching that course. But usually people are too busy looking down on me, they don't realise they can't keep up with me. I'm the best damn pilot in the Alliance Navy. The _Normandy_ 's probably too much ship for your average pilot to handle – what with that oversized drive core we've got stuffed in the back. Lucky for you; I'm anything but average."

Anderson raised an eyebrow; if there was one positive thing he could say about Joker, it was that he didn't lack for confidence.

"Put the _Normandy_ in my hands and I'll make her dance for you. Just don't ask me to get up and dance, unless you like the sound of crunching bones. I can do my job as well as anyone else on the ship – better in fact. I gotta be real careful when I get up to take a piss though."

Anderson didn't smile. "I can see why they call you 'Joker'."

"Look, I didn't pick the name. One of my instructors gave me the name because I never smiled."

"Why was that?"

"The galaxy's not gonna hand you anything if you go around grinning like an idiot. I didn't exactly get the best start in life, but I've made the most of it. I wanna be here because I deserve to be, because I earned it. I don't want anyone's sympathy."

"Good," Anderson nodded; he wasn't about to admit it, but his respect for the man had increased already. "You won't get special treatment from me, Lieutenant."

"Oh that breaks my heart, sir."

Anderson frowned, though not too deeply. He was smart enough to know the difference between insubordination and banter. "Just be ready in case there's an emergency."

"What kind of emergency, sir? There's a crazy turian Spectre, an N7 who's lost her mojo, and a human biotic on the ground. What could possibly go wrong?" Joker feigned a contented sigh. "Shepard's got this – whatever it is. Prothean?"

"Need-to-know," Anderson reiterated curtly.

"Right, well, like I said...I'll just sit here while Shepard does her thing."

"I'm sure you'll get your chance to shine."

"Oh I've had my chances to shine, Captain; it's always Shepard who gets all the glory and the girls. I'm just an accessory to make her look good; the 'Shepherd of Elysium takes a cripple into her flock'."

Anderson was puzzled to pick up the note of resentment in his words. "Shepard speaks very highly of you; I got the impression you were friends."

"When she feels like playing. Mostly she's got her pants in a twist these days – it doesn't help that she hasn't been laid in two years."

"She's been through a lot," Anderson reminded him, trying hard to ignore Joker's latter comment about a woman he viewed almost as his daughter. He could imagine that romance wasn't high on Shepard's list of priorities, not when her father's suicide had left her numb.

"Yeah," Joker continued; oblivious to his morose thoughts, but aware of Shepard's history; "and she never talks about any of it – even when I'm supposed to be her friend. It makes you wonder if she really cares or if she uses it all as an excuse."

"An excuse for what?"

"To be a screw-up."

Anderson couldn't help but strongly refute such a remark. "Shepard's a hero." Or at least she had been, sometime amid the family angst and the drinking. "She's the only reason Elysium is still standing."

"Uh-huh. What about those civilians who risked their necks by picking up weapons and fighting back? – She would never have survived without their help. My point is: Shepard isn't larger-than-life. She's only as strong as other people make her. She's mortal, Captain."

"I'm aware of that, Lieutenant."

"Good. So I'll ask you again: what could possibly go wrong down there?"

Anderson swallowed. "Eyes on your station, Lieutenant. I'll worry about everything else." And with that, he turned and marched down the bridge.

"We should do this more often," Joker called after him, somewhat determined to get the last word in. "I really feel as though we're bonding."

 

 

* * *

 

**Eden Prime**

Shepard's tongue was tingling from the salty sweat she had caught from her lip. The HUD (Heads-Up Display) inside her helmet visor informed her that her blood pressure was higher than it should have been; her heart rate was also elevated and the adrenaline pumping through her system had put her in a state of heightened alert. Every time a twig snapped under her boot, she would flinch and whip her rifle in the direction of an imaginary foe.

She mentally berated herself for being so pathetic. Where was her discipline? Before deploying, Anderson had advised them to remember their training. Now that she was reminded, she felt embarrassed. She was an N7 – a graduate of an elite branch of Alliance Special Forces. She'd been in worse predicaments than this, hadn't she? In hindsight, she would gladly endure the 'death march' at Vila Militar in Rio de Janeiro on Earth, or the 'death glide' on Titan. Of course there had been the batarians on Elysium – Shepard had still been in training at the time. She'd been promoted on account of the inadvertent combat experience she had logged there; but in order to achieve the legendary N7 status, she was required to have rudimentary knowledge on aliens – or at the very least, the three Council races. The Alliance Navy's method of enriching its students was less about asari art and more about the most effective way to sever a turian's spinal cord (which was easier said than done, what with their protective carapaces).

Burning lungs, flooded veins and pirates hadn't prepared her for this. And why would it have? The way she had survived on Elysium wouldn't serve her here, not when there was a witness and a person relying on her. This time there was no backup. Cut off from the ship; it was futile to waste time on deluding herself otherwise, or hoping that Captain Anderson might miraculously swoop in to save the day. The crew on the _Normandy_ had no idea what was going on down here. The population had been slaughtered, then mutated to fight for the enemy. The enemy was someone unknown to them; however, after today, no one would forget the name 'geth' or how ruthlessly callous they were. The Alliance seemed to making more enemies than friends. No one wanted to admit it, but the Alliance was way out of its depth.

If Shepard wanted to escape the planet surface alive, she would have to start believing in herself and her training. She was also mindful of the fact that she the acting superior officer, which meant that she couldn't lean on Lieutenant Alenko for support; he was relying on her to get him to safety. Aside from the turian Spectre having to shake some sense into her, Shepard hadn't crumbled for the simple reason that Alenko had more excuse than her to break down. If he could get his act together and carry on, so could she. So far, she and the lieutenant hadn't shared any unnecessary conversation. She didn't know what to say about Jenkins or if he even wanted a pep-talk. She figured that he was a professional, like her – or at least that's what it said on their uniforms. It was their duty to complete the mission, even in the face of adversity. There was a time and a place for mourning; Shepard got the sense that Alenko would prefer to be alone when such a time came.

And so she led them through the dessimated ruins of what had once been a beautiful forest teeming with exotic animal species and vibrant foliage. Shepard had read stories as a little girl about adventures in rainforests; she had been looking forward to experiencing her first forest for herself on Earth, until she had been thrown into one on a training scenario and had been forced to survive off the land with nothing but her wits to guide her. To this day she still suffered paranoid phantom itches from all the leeches and poisonous dart frogs.

Shepard held her fist up, signalling for Alenko to stop. This time she was sure that her imagination wasn't playing tricks on her. Waving her hand at the floor, Alenko crouched down behind her and waited obediently for her next order.

"Company," Shepard whispered.

Creeping up the bank she gestured at, they lay down in a prone position and observed the scene ahead.

"Shit," Shepard muttered under her breath, adjusting the long-range zoom feature on the HUD inside her visor so that she could get a better look. The figures appeared to be bi-pedal humanoids, only they weren't composed of flesh and blood. She activated her standard-issue omni-tool to get a better picture. An orange holographic interface appeared around her forearm and hand. As the name suggested, omni-tools were multipurpose devices combining a computer mainframe for hacking and decryption; a sensor analysis pack for diagnostic uses; and a minifacturing fabricator for repair and in-field jury-rigging. In addition, there were several handy functions such as a flashlight; a medi-gel dispenser; a video, audio and holographic communicator; as well as facilitating video games for off-duty recreation. It was a marvel of modern technology as far as the Alliance was concerned (not so much for the other species).

The readouts on her wrist indicated a kind of synthetic muscle tissue beneath a sturdy protective shell. The configuration appeared to be charged by a lattice of conductive fluid, mimicking the function of blood in organics. She also detected heat signatures of a different kind – element zero masses. "Synthetics?"

"They must be the geth that Nihlus mentioned," Kaidan suggested, noting the fluorescent photoreceptors reminiscent of the damaged one he had found earlier.

"Whatever they are, they don't look friendly."

"I'd gladly take them over those husks any day, ma'am," Kaidan muttered.

"Point taken, Lieutenant." Thankfully they hadn't run into any more reanimated corpses since splitting up with Nihlus. "I count at least a dozen."

"Add two more up on the ridge over there. My biotics can't handle them all at once," Kaidan admitted ruefully.

Shepard nodded; she didn't plan on a full-frontal confrontation if she could avoid it. She was still mindful of the clock ticking against them. "Look for an exit; there's gotta be some way around."

Kaiden tapped the side of his helmet, tuning his HUD. "It looks like they're just...waiting."

"They think the colony's been taken care of," Shepard mused. "Now they're guarding the route ahead – the spaceport." Lifting her eyes upwards, she saw the tall structure of the enemy ship in the distance behind some mountains. "That thing is enormous – much bigger than an Alliance dreadnought. Wanna hazard a guess at how many more of these geth things could be onboard?"

Kaidan glanced at her. "What happened to positive thinking, ma'am?"

"Right. Happy thoughts, Lieutenant. Happy thoughts..." Not that she could conjure any. The more she thought about it, the more she wished that she had firmly refused to let Nihlus go off on his own. What could a three-man-army possibly hope to achieve against a two kilometre-long dreadnought? The Spectre had proposed infiltration and sabotage, and Shepard prayed that he knew what he was doing. If he was captured by hostiles...she didn't even want to think about what fate was in store for him. Of course, if she and Alenko were captured... "Happy thoughts," she sighed. "Damn it. We need options; give me something, Lieutenant."

"I've weighed up the options, Commander, and I really don't think we have any choice but to back-track; take the scenic route."

Shepard didn't like the idea of losing more time, but then walking into the open was tantamount to suicide. She didn't particularly fancy spending her afterlife as a walking husk of her former self. Or perhaps she already was, in a way. Shepard shook her head; now wasn't the time for bad analogies. "Alright; we go back. Take it nice and slow."

Kaidan nodded, but before he could start to shimmy backwards down the hill, there was a sudden burst of commotion in the valley below.

"Yeeeah! Have some! Fucking have some!"

Shepard instinctively clamped her hand down around Alenko's arm to hold him in place. It was customary to remain completely stationary until it was deemed safe enough to move. Peering over a fallen tree trunk beside her, she raised her eyebrow when she saw the scene beyond. _What the hell?_

A woman had emerged from the tree-line, presenting herself as an attractive target out in the open – she wasn't even wearing her helmet. Her hair was tousled and knotted with twigs and leaves; there was a crazed look in her eyes as she was firing wildly off her hip.

"Come and get it! Plenty for everyone! Don't be shy now!"

One of the geth climbed up the bank toward her. Shepard was about to shout out to warn her, but there was no need.

The woman turned and grinned at her adversary. "That's it. Who's hungry for lead?! Yeah? Breakfast is up, you fuckers!" She let the Light Machine Gun hang from her shoulder while she reached behind her to draw her shotgun from its holster on her utility belt. One pump later and the geth flew backwards through the air with a gaping hole through its torso. "Fucking lamp-heads!" the woman taunted. "Who's next?!"

Kaidan exchanged a covert glance with Shepard. He could tell that the soldier was experiencing the same kind of reckless adrenaline rush he had experienced when Jenkins had been hurt... "Maybe we should help her."

"Agreed. Take the right flank." Straightening up onto her knees, Shepard opened fire while Alenko rolled to the side of the bank and hopped down.

As soon as his he'd gained his balance, he threw out both arms and sent a toppling shockwave toward the enemy. The layout of the valley meant that the geth were all funnelled together in a column. Kaidan managed to cause a lot of collateral damage – like bowling over multiple pins in a bowling alley.

"Nice," Shepard grinned, making light work of the stragglers. Biotics sure were handy to have around.

"We're clear," Kaiden reported, reaching into a pouch on his belt for a candy bar to replenish his energy reserves.

Shouldering her rifle, Shepard slid down to the ground and joined in. "Good work, Lieutenant. Let's -"

"That's it!" The unnamed soldier drove the butt of her machine gun into one of the downed geth and repeated the beating, despite the fact that the synthetic was completely lifeless. "Not so tough now, eh?! Fucking piece of scrap metal!"

"Hey!" Shepard marched up behind her and seized her shoulder. "I think you killed him – _it_."

The woman whipped round and aimed her weapon at them.

"Whoa," Kaidan showed her his hands. "We're human."

The soldier narrowed her eyes. "Yeah? I saw what you did with that...blue magic... You're _not_ human."

"Lieutenant Alenko is a human biotic," Shepard supplied, coming to the defence of her squadmate.

"And who are you? – His damn apologist?"

"Stand down," Shepard ordered her. "We're all in the Alliance here, so just lower your weapon and we'll be on our way."

Kaidan was about to tell Shepard that it was okay; he had been called worse things than a freak. As it happened, the woman _did_ lower her gun; but only so that she could free her hands and lunge for an unsuspecting Shepard.

She shoved her up against the nearest tree trunk and pinned her in place using her arm to choke her throat while her other hand pressed her handgun to Shepard's helmet. The casing wouldn't protect her at point-blank range.

"Calm down," Kaidan beseeched her. "We're on your side."

"You're here for the beacon, aren't you?" the marine growled.

Shepard just about managed to nod despite the fact that she was having the life squeezed out of her.

The marine bared her teeth in a barely-restrained growl of hatred and frustration. "I knew it," she spat. "I hope it's worth it."

"You're Gunnery-Chief Williams, aren't you?" Kaidan ventured cautiously. She may have looked muddied and dishevelled, but he was sure that he recognised her voice from the distress call. "Do you know what's happening here?"

"You're not the only one after that thing," Williams hissed. "They slaughtered my people like animals! I'm all that's left... And it's _your_ fault!" She slammed her captive back into the trunk to emphasise the rage seething inside her.

Shepard closed her eyes in an effort to stifle the pain she felt from jagged points stabbing her back.

Kaidan was disturbed that the commander's face was turning blue. He regretted that he couldn't use his biotics to peel Williams away; he still had to recover and recharge after his exertion in combat. "Let her go. We're here to help you."

"Is this what you call help? Someone on your end must've leaked the whole thing. We were sitting ducks for an attack! Or maybe that was the admiral's plan all along. Eliminate a Williams, pretend the mission went to hell and then blame it on Williams again. Well I'm not being your scapegoat _this_ time."

Kaidan shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but we don't have time to stand around and argue -"

" _I've got something up ahead,"_ Nihlus's voice crackled over the radio. _"Observe radio silence until I check in."_

Williams frowned. "Who the hell is that?"

" _Commander, do you copy?"_

"Let her go, Williams," Kaidan pressed her. "She needs to answer."

" _Lieutenant?"_

Without taking his eyes off Williams, Kaidan tapped his helmet. "I read you, Nihlus."

" _Where is the commander?"_

Kaidan deliberately held Williams's gaze when she looked round at him.

"Fine." She released Shepard who slithered to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.

"Yeah...I got that...Nihlus..."

" _Are you alright?"_

"We're on the move," Kaidan answered. He fully intended for them to be. "Maintaining radio silence until your signal. Alenko out." He crouched down beside the commander to check that she really was alright.

Williams stood back and watched them, shaking her head. "You're an N7," she noted, studying the insignia on Shepard's hardsuit.

"...Guilty...as...charged..." Shepard panted heavily, reaching up to massage her sore throat. _That really needs to stop happening._ Not only had Nihlus called her out on her cowardice, but now Williams thought her pathetic too. And they were right, after all.

"So much for sending the cavalry," Williams muttered. "I hope that third guy can handle himself better than you."

"Me too," Shepard agreed. "He's a Spectre."

"Huh? There are no human Spectres..."

"That's right." Shepard declined Kaidan's offer to help her up to her feet. "Nihlus is a turian."

"A what?!" Williams rounded on them.

"Before you fly off the handle; he's on our side."

"What side _is_ that exactly? And you haven't seen me fly off the handle; not by a long shot -"

"Hey," Kaidan tried to play peacemaker between the two women. "I know what you're going through, Williams; really I do. But the commander, Nihlus and I are here to help. You'd do well to start cooperating with us so we can all get out of this nightmare."

Williams scowled at him. "You're seriously deluded if you think you can be friends with the turians."

"How about a compromise?" Shepard offered; "Start with us first. We all need to work together if we're gonna get out of here in one piece. You _don't_ want to know what's waiting back the way we came." She paused and held out her hand. "I don't think we got off on the right foot. Commander Shepard, _SSV Normandy._ "

From the look of disgust on Williams's face, it was clear that she wasn't impressed by her credentials. "You think you've had it rough? I've been waging guerrilla warfare with those synthetic bastards all night."

"They're called geth," Kaidan informed her, immediately wishing he hadn't interrupted her when she treated him to a murderous glare.

"I don't give a _shit_ what they're called, Lieutenant. They wiped out the 232 and I'm all that's left of the 212. I have only one reason to draw breath, and that's to avenge my people. I won't rest until I've killed _every last one_ of those _fucking_ lamp-heads."

"As long as your killing spree takes us in the direction of the spaceport," Shepard chimed in, adjusting her suit.

Williams turned her gaze to her. "Do I look like a tour guide?"

"We lost ours," said Kaidan, thinking about Jenkins – trying hard not to think too long about Jenkins... "He was just a kid. We could really use your help, Williams. The best thing you can do to avenge your squad would be to make sure we get that artefact safely onto our ship."

"Great. Out of one set of alien hands and into another. Maybe I don't want to help the almighty Citadel Council."

"This is for the Alliance," Shepard assured her. "It's in our best interests to work with the Council."

"With all due respect, _Commander_ , I didn't join an Alliance that ass-licks aliens for favours. I have a word for someone who does that – 'traitor'."

Shepard shook her head. "You wanna vote for Terra Firma on election day; be my guest."

"Terra Firma is a pack of jackals," Ash retorted. "I'd like to think my reasons for human solidarity are the right ones. The turians nuked us from orbit during the First Contact War, and I don't remember the asari or salarians stepping in to defend us. This is _their_ fault. If we'd only kept the beacon secret, my people would still be alive – so would your kid."

Shepard glanced at Kaidan and saw that he had averted his gaze. "Come on. We need to coordinate our efforts with Nihlus. He's gonna shut down their jamming frequencies, get a message through to Anderson while we secure the beacon at the spaceport."

"Or he's in on it and we're all walking into a trap," Williams hissed. "Personally I know where I'd put my creds."

"Objection noted, _Gunnery-Chief_ ; but this isn't a democracy. You'll respect the chain of command or face Court Martial – either way, we're moving out."

Williams clenched her jaw in a silent fume. "I guess we _did_ get off on the wrong foot, _ma'am_."

 

 

* * *

 

Dr Manuel Cayce only blinked calmly when his colleague, Dr Judy Warren, stretched a despairing hand out in his direction and frantically begged him to help her as a pair of geth dragged her into the centre of the platform. When the attack on the colony had begun, Manuel and Dr Warren had resolved to travel to the spaceport and protect their discovery. They had made it as far as the tram station when they'd seen that the terminal was already overrun by an army of synthetic beings who appeared to be standing guard, waiting. They had taken refuge among the containers and crates that littered the warehouse beside the tram platform, and had waited for something to happen. The seemingly languid synthetics had suddenly jostled into motion when a turian had arrived on the scene. Disturbed by the sudden activity, Dr Warren had foolishly decided to make a break for freedom. She had learned too late that the turian, though an organic, was not necessarily an ally. The geth had apprehended her and Manuel suspected that she was doomed for something terrible yet wondrous.

Presently the turian marched by the ranks of geth, seeming to inspect them as Manuel had seen military leaders do.

"Today is a glorious day," the turian announced. "Today you will behold what your prophet can give you. But are you worthy to meet your gods? I think not!"

Manuel admired the confident way the turian carried himself; his imposing presence exuded authority and commanded respect – or was it fear? From his hiding place, he could hear Dr Warren's whimpers of protest as she was brought before the turian leader.

"You are brave to try and evade capture for so long," the turian commended her. "But you have no reason to be afraid. Don't you already lead a pitiful existence? I can give you better. Speak, human."

Dr Warren opened and closed her mouth several times before she managed to blub some incoherent words. "I-I-I'm...a s-scientist...f-f-from Exo...Geni...C-corp."

The turian grabbed her chin and turned her head from side to side, looking her over. "Such weak creatures – I could snap your spine in half. You're the one that discovered the beacon?"

"Y-yes."

"Congratulations, Doctor. You do not comprehend it yet – you are but a primitive human – but you have helped uncover the means to our deliverance; our very survival. And for that, you are worthy of recognition. Unlike your fellow humans; you deserve to experience enlightenment. You will shed this weak form and assume a new one."

Dr Warren squealed when a pair of geth took her arms. "No! Please!"

"You will come to be grateful, human; you will see."

"No! No! Manuel!" No matter how much Dr Warren twisted and writhed; the synthetics holding her hostage possessed superior physical strength over organics. She couldn't break free.

The turian watched her struggle with mild amusement; he had no idea what 'Manuel' meant, but he was tiring quickly of the ineffectual display. "Take this human to the Matriarch. She insists on anointing them with prayer before they receive the honour."

"Manuel!"

Manuel kept his head down. He would not help Dr Warren since she had given into temptation, despite all his warnings. The many had suffered because the few had been selfish and had refused to bury the beacon. The judgement for this indiscretion – for humanity's insatiable curiosity – would be harsh, and Manuel knew that the turian was there to exact it.

"The prophet walks among us," he whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

Through the scope on his rifle, Nihlus concluded that the tram terminal was heavily defended. It was hardly a surprise since the enemy ship was parked nearby. He had never seen anything like it; it completely defied classification. Even his omni-tool didn't recognise it as geth design, but since the geth were a reclusive species beyond the Perseus Veil, it was highly likely that they had made technological advancements without the Council's knowledge. Nihlus could see that the tram terminal led to the spaceport beyond, which meant that Shepard and Alenko would be coming this way. Nihlus had promised to see if he could find a way to disrupt the enemy's activities. He had accomplished many heroic feats in his career, but he wasn't stupid. He was honourable enough to admit that he was at a severe disadvantage; the odds of victory were somewhere between infinitesimally slim and zero. Even if he managed to slip past the geth sentries undetected, he wasn't familiar enough with geth technology and procedure to know where to go on the ship in order to shut down the jamming frequencies. Sabotaging the ship was no longer an option and the route to the spaceport was blocked. The involvement of the geth was highly unanticipated; he knew that if the mission was lost, his next priority was to report his findings to the Council. Perhaps there was a way to place a locater beacon on the ship so that the Council could send a fleet after it. He would only need to get close enough to the ship to plant a device on the hull.

His attention was drawn elsewhere when he heard the screams of a female human nearby. Squinting through his scope; he saw that that she was being escorted toward a row of spikes exactly like the ones back at the colonised settlement.

Nihlus looked up; his mandibles twitching as he considered the correct course of action. Turians were usually meticulous and orthodox in their approach to life – whether it was preparing a meal or assaulting an enemy encampment. But admittedly Nihlus had never adhered to the strict rules he had been presented with; hence Spectrehood suited him.

He wasn't really entertaining the notion of risking his life to save a single human. Personal sacrifice was expected from all turians, but only if the recompense was greater than the amount paid. A life for a life was unacceptable. From his time around humans, he knew how much value they placed on a single life. He couldn't abide by their principles in this case. The greater good must always come first.

And yet, perhaps the human woman presented a target he hadn't foreseen. He pressed his eye to his rifle's scope once more. A figure was waiting beside the spikes – not a geth; but an asari. He could tell by her majestic robes and her headdress that she was a Matriarch. Quite what a Matriarch was doing outside of the asari Republics, he couldn't say. From what he knew of asari activity; they were not as interested in AI research and technology as, say, the quarians or the humans. He had no idea what this particular Matriarch was doing among geth or why she was on a human colony. The Council would be most interested in his findings...

"Please...please don't hurt me! I don't want to die!"

"Shhh," the asari tried to calm her. "You will be reborn anew."

Choosing that moment to move from his hiding spot, Nihlus snuck up behind the asari and aimed his rifle. "Stop what you're doing. By order of the Citadel Council, I implore you to surrender." He knew full well that she could fling him aside with her biotics before he could get a shot off, but since the asari were not an inherently violent species; he was banking on her being peaceful and cooperative.

The asari's biotics were the least of his worries when he felt what was unmistakably the barrel of a weapon press into his head from behind. He had failed to pay attention to the entirety of his surroundings, and now his life belonged to whoever had bested him.

"You disappoint me, Nihlus," came a calm, cold voice. "I thought I trained you better than this."

The turian Spectre didn't dare move a muscle. "Saren?" He was genuinely apologetic, not to mention shocked to hear the voice of his former mentor. The Council hadn't mentioned anything about sending additional Spectre support. Was it possible that Captain Anderson had managed to forward the distress call to Council space? If so, it was plausible that a Spectre close enough to the area would come to render aid...

Saren holstered his handgun and stepped around him, nudging his rifle toward the floor where it could do no harm. "You're no match for an asari Matriarch," he said matter-of-factly before turning to face him. He looked him over, seemingly unimpressed and critical, before opening his arms. "Nihlus, we are like brothers – and this is how you greet me?"

Nihlus was too confused and cautious to reciprocate his apparent affection when Saren embraced him. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing?" Saren appeared to consider it. "I am here for the same reason you are."

"The Prothean artefact?" Nihlus was growing increasingly confused. He flicked his gaze at the row of spikes on the platform; the platoon of geth standing guard; the bawling human woman, and the asari Matriarch. "What's going on here, Saren? The geth -?"

"Ah yes; you see that I have made contact with them."

"You've negotiated a cease-fire, I take it?"

"The geth will not harm us, Nihlus," Saren said calmly.

"Good. Then we need to secure the artefact and return to the Citadel right away."

"No."

Nihlus was taken-aback by his casual note of finality. "I have my orders, Saren. All Prothean technology must be handed in to the Council."

"The Council," Saren spat with disdain. "The Council is short-sighted; incapable of doing what is best for this galaxy. They will never understand."

"I'm not sure I understand it either," Nihlus admitted, looking him over. In his haste and confusion, he had neglected to realise that Saren looked...changed. Granted it had been a long time since they had seen one another, but that didn't account for the physical discrepancies – the synthetic pieces grafted onto his arm and cybernetics adorning his carapace. The Council knew that Saren and Nihlus were close; they would've told him, surely, if Saren had been grievously injured on an assignment. "What's happened to you, Saren? What's going on?"

"You have not seen what I have. Temple Palaven on our homeworld. Did I ever tell you about my brother?"

Nihlus recalled that Saren's brother, Desolas, had been a high-ranking general who had won fame and honour in battle – most notably the First Contact War with the humans. He was dead now. "Temple Palaven was destroyed on account of a bio-hazard. But what does that have to do with this?"

"I was there," Saren nodded. "I have witnessed first-hand... I paid a high price that day, but every turian knows that sacrifices _must_ be made for the greater good. You must understand, Nihlus, that what I am doing will save trillions of lives. My whole Spectre career has led up to this; you might say that it's my destiny. I _will_ deliver us."

Nihlus stared unblinkingly at him. His mandibles quivered in rising frequency to indicate emotions of bewilderment, startled realisation, disgust... "You're responsible for this attack, aren't you?" He turned his gaze to the human woman whose execution had been delayed thanks to his interruption. "There is no glory in conquering an inferior enemy. Let her go."

Saren matched his gaze. "This human discovered the Prothean beacon, Nihlus. She has no idea what it is or what it does. Humanity is too young; it must learn its place in the galaxy. But I am gracious enough to recognise its potential; this world was given the honour of making the first sacrifice so that trillions of others may live."

"Why? There is no redemption for this, Saren."

Frustrated by his lack of understanding, Saren gave way to anger. "Don't presume to deny us our destiny, Nihlus! Who stood by you when all others disowned you?! Who trained you?! Who convinced the Council to make you a Spectre?! Who helped you win their trust?! Who helped you attain glory?! _Me_ , Nihlus. All this time, I have been preparing you to _join me_. Since the Council thinks so highly of you – thanks to _me_ and _my_ guidance – I knew they would send you on this mission. Don't you see? This is your destiny too. Take your place by my side and embrace the coming era with me."

Nihlus shook his head slowly. "I am a Council Spectre...this is wrong..."

"The Council would doom us all to destruction. Even the Matriarch knows this. I am our best hope because I am the only one willing to do what _must_ be done."

"No!" Dr Warren screamed, pulling free from her captors. "You won't get away with this!" She'd built a distance of a few strides before she was suddenly snagged inside a shimmering blue sphere. The asari Matriarch had manipulated dark energy to raise the mass of the air around the scientist, effectively immobilising her in a stasis field.

Saren bowed his head, applauding her. "Very good, Mistress." He signalled for the geth to move in and retake the human. "You think me a monster, Nihlus? Look again. The geth do not die. If their physical platform is destroyed; their program is simply transferred to another. That is what we can achieve. These humans are not dead; they have been ascended to a greater plane of existence. Think about it. We need never lose a loved one again. Behold our salvation, Brother."

Nihlus couldn't help it; a part of him was eager to see what Saren saw, to understand as he did. He didn't look away when the geth held the writhing woman in place and activated the device. Her final shriek was snuffed when the tip of the spike punctured her body and carried her high in the air. Crimson blood dripped down the length of the beam and spattered on the ground.

"Do you see it, Nihlus?" Saren awaited his verdict.

"I..."

" _Shepard to Nihlus. Please respond. Come in, Nihlus."_

Before Nihlus could explain, Saren lunged in and ripped the communicator from his person.

"More humans?"

Nihlus's mandibles twitched as he struggled to fight against a seemingly invisible force.

Saren's face fell dark. "Do not disappoint me again."

Nihlus felt compelled to turn around and point the way. Only when it was too late did he realise that his trembling arm was outstretched in the direction of the mountain from which Commander Shepard and Lieutenant Alenko would descend on their way to find the spaceport. His mandibles jerked. "By the Spirits..."

Behind him, Saren raised his handgun and squeezed the trigger. He watched as the Spectre keeled over and collapsed face-first on the ground. "You should not have betrayed me, Nihlus," he muttered quietly. He holstered his gun and waved his talons at the nearest geth unit. "It seems we have some uninvited guests. Load the remaining offerings onto the ship, then see that the humans don't make it to the spaceport. I will set an explosive device to detonate after we are gone." He didn't delude himself into thinking that the geth enjoyed taking orders from him. He was an organic; they looked down on him as a primitive. They thought organic methods of communication inefficient; organic bodies weak and easily prone to injury or disease. To them he was inferior in every possible way. They wouldn't have hesitated to kill him and his cohorts if it wasn't for the fact that Saren had promised them what they sought.

Once the group of geth had achieved consensus in favour of carrying out Saren's orders, he turned to the asari Matriarch. "It is time, Mistress. You will activate the beacon and help me decipher its secrets."

 

 

* * *

 

Commander Shepard was growing increasingly anxious; the mission had gone bad right from the get-go, and the ominous static emanating from her radio wasn't doing anything to improve her apprehension. She had broken Nihlus's order to maintain radio silence because of the humungous ship parked at the tram station and the large army assembling on the platform. Her educated guess was that the ship was parked here instead of at the spaceport in order to allow for easy transfer of cargo – namely the spikes with impaled human corpses.

"I don't understand why synthetics would need to recruit organics to fight for them," Kaidan pondered aloud; "I mean, couldn't they just build more of themselves?"

"It's the perfect weapon," Shepard admitted. "Set us against each other – force us to turn a gun on those we care about. Machines wouldn't understand, but they're smart enough to know that it's our weakness."

Ash frowned. "Wait a minute... Are you saying that my people are still out there somewhere? I have to go back -"

Shepard caught her when she made to spring up. "Trust me, Chief; those _things_ are not your people – not anymore."

"She's right," Kaidan spoke quietly. "It's like they were reverted to a really primitive state with only the most basic survival instinct – to feed."

Ash was panting heavily out of suppressed rage. "What the hell? Those bastards are gonna pay -"

"Easy," Shepard hissed, dragging her back down to the ground. "You're not gonna help anyone by charging down there and getting yourself killed."

"We have to do _something_."

"She's got a point, Commander," Kaidan chimed in. "The _Normandy_ 's going to have to discharge the core very soon. We don't have a lot of time left."

Shepard glanced at her chronometer. "So I take it you volunteer to go and tell the pilot to leave so that the _Normandy_ can come down and rescue us?"

Kaidan spared a glance at the dozens of geth milling around, carrying out some unknown purpose. "Er..."

Shepard smiled faintly and returned her gaze to their goal. "Nihlus must've come this way. He's gotta be down there somewhere." She tried her radio again. "Nihlus, come in. Nihlus, this is Shepard; do you copy?" No response – nothing but crackling noise.

"Maybe our proximity to the ship has knocked out our comms," Kaidan deduced.

"Are you kidding me?" Ash grumbled, reminiscently rubbing her head. "That thing sounded more like the shriek of the damned."

Kaidan looked at her. "What did?"

"When it landed this morning, there was some kind of noise in everyone's head."

Kaidan didn't profess to understand what she was talking about. "I don't like this one bit. Orders, commander?"

"We can't stay here forever," Shepard admitted. "We have to find Nihlus."

"What about your precious artefact?" Ash reminded her.

"We've already lost one teammate today; I don't plan on losing another."

Ash shook her head. "Try losing your whole unit; _then_ we can talk."

Shepard grimaced at her tactlessness. She watched Williams rise to her feet and take point.

 

 

* * *

 

**Eden Prime's Spaceport**

Saren closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steal himself while the Matriarch activated her Omni-tool and sent the activation signal that the asari had deciphered centuries ago. He had waited a very long time for this moment. He had let the geth harvest the colony while he had learned of the Prothean beacon's location. The humans had come so close to acquiring it, and yet so far. They weren't ready.

The Matriarch took a step back when shafts of green light sprang up from the base and curled around the spire, illuminating a sequence of lights that rearranged themselves into a holographic interface panel. "It's in very good condition," she noted softly. "Quite remarkable, seeing as it's been over fifty thousand years."

"Yes, the Protheans were nothing if not resilient," Saren agreed. "Step aside. I must be the one to bear the vision so that I can give the geth their gods."

The Matriarch did as he wished and observed in silence when Saren stepped up to the base and allowed the wisps of green light to engulf him.

"Take me," he raised his arms. "Show me the way."

A blinding flash of light enveloped him, and the Matriarch had no choice but to shield her eyes from the ritual. When the brightness subsided, she lowered her arm and saw that the turian was huddled on the floor. "Saren," she hurried to his side. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine," he hissed, batting her away.

She knew that he was too obstinate to admit that he was disoriented. "Come; let us take a shuttle and return to the ship at once."

Saren lifted his head and gazed up at the beacon. "Not yet. I must set the explosive."

The Matriarch spared a glanced at the geth-built device they had brought with them to the spaceport. "Is it really necessary to destroy this planet? We have what we need; let's just go."

"We must eliminate all evidence that we were here," Saren reminded her. "Do not let your faith waver now, Mistress; not when we have come so far together."

The Matriarch offered him her arm. "As you wish."

 

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy_ ** **, in geo-synchronous orbit**

Captain Anderson hadn't left the CIC, not even to get a coffee. He was standing – more like slouching – on the captain's mast (a failed attempt by the turians to emulate humour), leaning forwards against the railing and watching a holographic representation of the _Normandy_ as the lithium heat sinks built into the hull gradually burned hotter as they soaked up the drive charge. He caught glimpses out of the corners of his eyes as the CIC staff fanned themselves or stretched the material of their shirts to reach the droplets on their brows. Navigator Pressly was the only person who had retained his officer's dress, though the crown of his bald head was glistening with sweat. The crew was being cooked alive, but Anderson was determined to give Shepard and the others as much time as possible. He still hadn't heard a word from them, though he suspected that the enemy ship was interfering with transmissions as well as sensors.

" _My personal recommendation is that we discharge the core very soon, sir,"_ came the voice of his chief engineer, Lieutenant Greg Adams, over the comm. _"We're pushing the limits, Captain."_

"Tell me something I don't know, son," Anderson muttered, wiping his face on his shoulder. "Notify me when we're in danger."

" _Well, sir, the lower levels are already much hotter than Deck 1."_ Deck 1 was like the lap of luxury compared to the rest of the ship.

"Noted. Give your people permission to strip off; do whatever you have to do to hold on. We just need to wait a bit longer."

" _Aye, sir. Engineering out."_

Anderson returned to his slump. It was ironic to think that they should've been safe from harm on the ship while the ground team had to contend with danger. The truth was that it was a joint operation between ship and shore party. In a way the crew's lives were in the hands of those off-ship; they could remain hidden for only so long. In his mind, Anderson sent a silent plea to Shepard to get a move on before they were all roasted. However, he couldn't deny that a part of him felt exhilarated. If he couldn't be leading the away missions himself, this was a way to feel like he was included – although he would've preferred to remain a little more dignified. He was painfully aware that he had two damp sweat patches forming at his armpits, despite having his sleeves rolled up as far as they would go.

An alarm sounded and he snapped to attention as though someone had just thrown a much-needed bucket of ice-cold water over him. "Report, Mr Pressly!"

"Sir, something's launching from the surface."

"Can you be more specific?"

Pressly dabbed his perspiring face with his sleeve. "If it's a weapon; its ascent velocity is too slow."

"Raise kinetic barriers."

"Sir, if we activate the combat systems; we'll have to discharge the core and give our position away."

Anderson was well aware of the risks. They would have to discharge anyway before taking another jump through the mass relay. "Lieutenant Adams," he jabbed the comm; "belay my last – tell your people they don't have to get naked. Discharge the drive core immediately."

There was an enthusiastic, if relieved 'Aye, aye, sir!'.

"Mr Pressly, bring all ship functions back online and raise kinetic barriers."

"Aye, Captain."

In the cockpit of the bridge, Joker was frantically sifting through the sensor readings being relayed to his monitor. "Captain! It's not a weapon; it's the ship – heading right for our position. If they didn't know we were here before; they do now."

Anderson's eyes widened; the _Normandy_ was an ant next to a two kilometre-long dreadnought. "Joker, evasive manoeuvres! Bring us about; we've got people on the ground! Prepare for an emergency extraction!"

Joker flexed his sweaty fingers. "Time to shine."

 

 

* * *

 

**Eden Prime**

The journey downhill was significantly faster than the climb had been. When the ground had started shaking, it was a simple matter of tumbling down the slope and landing painfully behind a group of cargo containers. Shepard had ordered her team to keep their heads down while they watched, in awe, as the enemy dreadnought lifted off. It whipped up a hurricane of debris and dust in its wake as it hurtled skywards. With her visor sealed, Shepard's mouth was agape. From what she could make out in the haze; she saw that the landing struts looked a lot like curved legs. The design was almost insect-like perhaps. She had seen the geth move around in groups; it was logical to assume that the ship was their hive or something similar. Nihlus was more likely to have the answers.

Ash was the first to rise to her feet as soon as the coast was clear. Cradling her rifle always made her feel better. "I guess I can't blame the cowards for not wanting to face us in battle, but that was a little _too_ convenient."

Shepard followed suit after her. "Agreed. Be prepared for an ambush."

The atmosphere was now eerily quiet – even the fires had all but burned themselves out. Shepard realised that with the geth gone, all that was left was a mass grave...all across the colony. They were perhaps the only living things left on the planet.

"Commander..."

Shepard broke into a jog to join Lieutenant Alenko's position ahead of her. She followed his gaze at the turian sprawled on the ground in a puddle of dark blue blood (due to their metallic exoskeleton, they had haemocyanin in their blood rather than haemoglobin).

"That's how I prefer my turians," Williams muttered; "Dead."

Shepard ignored her comment and went to examine the body. At least he hadn't been physically torn apart like Jenkins. "Shot in the back of the head," she noted darkly.

"We should be wary of snipers," Kaidan chimed in, peering through his rifle scope as he scanned the surrounding hills.

"Don't bother; the ballistic impact and trauma looks as though it happened at close range." Shepard crouched down to place a locator beacon beside his body so that the cleanup crews could retrieve him. "Either he was caught off-guard or he was executed." She didn't know which eventuality was more troubling; the fact that a Spectre such as Nihlus had become careless or the fact that he had been apprehended...

There was a rustling sound nearby.

"Movement," Kaidan signalled; "over there behind the crates."

Shepard straightened up and raised her handgun. If it was another husk, she wouldn't hesitate to blow its brains out. "Come out slowly with your hands on you head."

Kaidan and Williams joined her side, both prepared to open fire.

A man's face peeked out over the crates.

"It's alright," Kaidan assured him; "we're not gonna hurt you. We're from the Alliance and we're here to help."

"Hands where I can see them," Shepard reiterated.

The man's hands emerged from the shadows before the rest of his body followed. He placed his hands on his head and dropped to his knees.

Ash had to look twice. "Dr Cayce?"

Shepard kept her eyes trained firmly on him, watching for any indication of aggressive movement. "You know this guy, Williams?"

"Yeah; he's one of the scientists that found the artefact."

Shepard lowered her handgun slightly so that she was aiming for his thigh instead of his chest. "What are you doing back there? Did you kill Nihlus?"

Manuel shook his head. "The prophet...I saw him. He was here."

"Yeah... You'll get used to that, Commander," Williams assured her. "He's a little unstable. Manuel," she feigned a sweet, soothing voice as she stepped forward. "You're safe now. Can you tell us what happened?"

"The prophet," Manuel repeated. "He was here. The turian called him by name. He called him...Saren."

"Saren?" Shepard blurted, the name jogging her memory of last night's dinner with Anderson.

Kaidan recognised it too. He looked at the commander. "What are the odds of it being the same Saren?"

"I dunno." Shepard's eyes wandered to Nihlus's corpse. She didn't know turian names well enough to know if the name was common. However, that wasn't really on her mind. She recalled that Nihlus had said that Saren had been his mentor, a fellow Spectre. "Why do you call him a prophet?"

"He is the herald of the beast; the prophet for their return."

"Whose return?"

Manuel cradled his head in his hands. "I told you not to eat the apple!"

"I think that's about all you're likely to get out of him," Ash muttered. "We're wasting time here."

Even though Williams had a point, Shepard wondered if they were on to something. "Where is Saren now? Did he escape from the geth?"

"He leads the pilgrims."

Shepard frowned. "I don't understand..."

"No time!" Ash growled, setting her machine gun atop a crate. "We've got company!" Geth were climbing out of crates all around the platform.

"The pilgrims wish to sanctify this place," Manuel cried. "You cannot stop them."

"Watch me," Shepard growled, shoving him to the floor. "Fire at will!"

"They've got us out-flanked!" Ash shouted over the din of gunfire as she sprayed suppressive bullets. Her assault was inaccurate, and yet crudely effective.

"They're just rushing us," Kaidan found the time to comment; "It's like they've got no regard for self-preservation."

"They're just machines," Shepard reminded him. "Machines who want to kill us," she added.

"Point taken." Kaidan flicked his arm and neutralised the threat to their flank. They were no longer surrounded.

"Like fish in a barrel!" Ash whooped.

Shepard had to shake her head; at least someone was enjoying themselves.

Kaidan switched to his sidearm while his implants took time to recover and recharge. With the trio's combined firepower, the remaining geth were neutralised in no time at all. "I think we're in the clear."

"Good. Grab the scientist and let's go." Shepard selected the only tram on the platform and waved everyone onboard before she started the contraption's engine. There was only one way to go – to the end of the line, the spaceport.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The tram was agonisingly slow; on any other day it wouldn't have been a problem to admire the luscious view. But today the panorama was distinctly unattractive and heart-breaking, not to mention that every second wasted went toward putting the _Normandy_ at risk.

Shepard's heart was in her mouth the whole time. They were so close to the end... Was it selfish to lump the burdens of sifting through the dead and rebuilding the colony onto the cleanup crews? She just wanted to get off this god-forsaken planet and open that bottle Anderson had promised her.

She was already retracting the safety bar before the tram had come to a complete stop. "Set up a defensive perimeter – I don't want any more surprises." Taking the first step onto the platform, she knelt down and trained her rifle on the area ahead. "Go."

Ash scurried past her and set up her machine gun on the right while Kaidan covered the left side.

"No more crates," he reported. "But I think I know why the geth didn't leave much resistance." He passed his omni-tool over a spherical device he had discovered on his side of the platform. "This is a bomb...and we've got less than seven minutes before it goes off..."

"Damn it." Shepard ripped her helmet off and tossed it on the floor. "Humanity has paid a high price today and still the Council won't get its prize." She leaned back on her haunches and held her face in her hands. They'd come this far, only to fail at the very last hurdle...

The others weren't as ready to give up as she was.

"Manuel's a genius," Ash clapped the scientist's shoulder. "You'll figure it out, right?"

Manuel wore a vacant expression. "It calls to me..."

"There, see? He volunteers. It's all good." Ash waited until the scientist had stepped out of earshot. "What kind of commander are you?"

Shepard looked up. "Excuse me?"

"The tough gets going and you bail. It's not over until that thing blows; you can still _try_ and do something. Last night, I watched all my friends die. But you know what? I kept going. Giving up would've been an affront to them. So you _owe_ it to them, to me, to your other friend and to your turian to _try_."

Shepard averted her eyes; she couldn't bear to see her expectant look.

"Fine," Ash growled; "you sit here and die. The rest of us want to survive another day – that's what humans are all about." Shaking her head in disgust, she turned away and went to check on the progress of the two men. "Lieutenant?" she stepped up beside Alenko and matched his gaze at the tall spire.

"This is amazing," Kaidan was awed. "What is it exactly?"

"Dunno. Dr Warren said it was part of some trans-galactic communications network – whatever that means. It wasn't glowing like that when I saw it yesterday."

"Is it possible one of the scientists found out how to use it?"

"No; I sent them back to the town last night and left the artefact under guard."

"The prophet was here," Manuel intoned.

Just when Shepard was about ready to abandon her life, she looked up and turned to the scientist. "You mean Saren? Saren was here? Goddammit." Not only had this Saren screwed Anderson over, but now her as well. And she would never get the chance to meet him and get payback...

" _Anderson to shore party; come in."_

Shepard bolted to her feet; there was the sweetest-sounding voice in all the galaxy as far as she was concerned. "Shepard here. It's damn good to hear your voice, Captain."

" _You betcha, Commander. We're en route to pick you up now."_

Shepard forced herself to ignore the stricken faces of her companions; escape was so close that they could taste it. "Negative, Captain. We've found some kind of nuclear device set to detonate. I recommend that you get the _Normandy_ to a safe distance – there's no telling how much damage this thing will do."

" _How much time do you have? We can still pick you up -"_

"There's no time, Anderson," Shepard cut across him, grimacing at the strain in her voice. "Get out of here."

" _Damn it, Commander; I haven't gone to all this trouble to give up on you now. Can you disarm the device?"_

"No, sir; it's of alien origin. I've got no idea where to start..."

"You haven't even tried," Ash rebuked her. Activating her omni-tool, she linked herself onto the frequency they were using. "Sir, this is Gunnery-Chief Williams."

" _Williams?"_

"Yes, sir. From what we can tell, sir; the device is geth."

" _Did you say...? That's not possible."_

"The dead around here would disagree with you, sir."

" _Where's Nihlus?"_

"Dead, sir," Kaidan muttered.

Shepard inclined her head to the floor. "The mission's lost, sir."

Ash scowled at her. "Not yet. We've got someone working on the device, sir. Don't write us off just yet."

There was the sound of Anderson's chuckle. _"We won't, Chief. Shepard, listen to me. You do whatever you have to do to get these people to safety. Do you understand?"_

Shepard felt two pairs of gazes on her. "Yes, sir."

" _I'll be waiting. We won't leave you behind – that's a promise._ Normandy _out."_

Shepard sighed heavily and reluctantly met Ash's gaze. "Alright. What do I do?"

"Well, for starters you can give Dr Cayce some encouragement -" Ash broke off abruptly when she turned around and saw that Manuel wasn't tending to the geth bomb, but was moving toward the Prothean artefact as though in some kind of trance. "What the hell?"

"What does it say?" Manuel wondered, reaching out to it.

Shepard knocked Ash and Kaidan out of the way as she launched herself after the scientist in some wild effort to redeem herself. "No, don't touch -!"

She collided with Manuel and wrestled him to the ground, only to get struck by a green vein of lightning.

Ash and Kaidan watched in stupefied horror as she collapsed to the floor and convulsed as though she were suffering a fit.

"Man down!" Ash shouted, about to lunge for her.

"Don't touch her," Kaidan wound an arm around her waist and held her back. "We don't know what we're dealing with – it's too dangerous."

Manuel got to his knees and stared at the shuddering woman. "What do you see? What does it say?"

"Get away from her!" Ash warned him. "We're dead anyway, Lieutenant."

Kaidan loosened his grip and moved with her to help their injured teammate.

Then the beacon exploded.


	6. The Morning after the Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes the novel Mass Effect: Revelation into consideration. If you haven't read it, don't worry.
> 
> I hope no one minds that I conveniently rearrange a few time scales to suit my story. If anyone cares for canon: Shepard is unconscious for fifteen hours and Tali's story in her portion of Mass Effect: Homeworlds takes place over several days – possibly even a couple of weeks.
> 
> If you don't know what I'm talking about; all the better for me.
> 
> Here is where we begin to dip into the realm of fiction. I have invented scenarios to things Bioware left open to interpretation. 
> 
> Also just a quick note on my differentiation between sex and gender. In this work, 'sex' will refer to male, female or neuter. 'Gender' to me evokes gender roles and gender identities; they do not necessarily correlate with sex. Those are the ideas I will be going with, just so you know.

**Chapter 6**

 

_Red laser beams slash through the skies. Agitated shrieks as we try to flee for our lives. A relentless onslaught rains down from above. Brought to our knees, we face extinction. Resistance leads to death. No one can reason with such ruthless beings. There is no mercy; only extermination as far as the eye can see. Worse than destroying life; the galaxy has been stripped of all hope. There is a lingering sense of despair punctured only by the shrill screams of generations yet to come robbed of their future. This is their legacy – an inheritance of annihilation._

 

* * *

 

**Saren Arterius's dreadnought, somewhere outside Council space**

Saren awoke with a start and sat bolt upright on his makeshift cot. His mandibles were flapping so hard that they were slapping his face. He now came to regret that he hadn't bothered to dismantle his armour and change into more comfortable attire. He felt heavy and encumbered as he turned to the side and dragged himself to his aching feet.

He blinked with disinterest when the bulkheads shifted position before his very eyes. The ship was actually a self-sustaining entity which made his crew's job all the easier to maintain it. As though it could sense his thoughts and desires, the bulkheads shifted and turned out a basin with a mirror. Water was in limited supply on the ship, but Saren was desperate for the mild relief splashing water on his leathery skin provided him. He looked up at the pane of murky glass and couldn't make out his face. Only two piercing eyes glowed at him from the darkness.

The strange dream had been playing on a constant loop during his sleep. He was sure that there was an important message hidden within the sequence, yet every time he felt close to recognising it; he would wake up, drenched in his own sweat. Saren was no stranger to brutality and violence; and so he was bothered that the images in the dream had disturbed him so much. Why was he so weak? Perhaps the answers he sought eluded him because he wasn't worthy. How would he overcome such a hurdle and become stronger? Growling in anger, he slammed his talons down on the rim of the basin. He hadn't come this far to give up now.

Saren Arterius was the longest-serving turian in the Spectres; as the youngest ever turian to be accepted, he had spent the last twenty-four years of his life defending galactic stability in the name of the Citadel Council. Before that he had served in the turian military since the tender age of fifteen. Among his species Saren was held up as a legendary soldier; the fact that he was a known Spectre operative was rare – usually the Council's agents worked in secrecy. There was little mystery to Saren's fame; he and his deceased brother, Desolas, had fought in the First Contact War. Turian culture revolved heavily around the military; Saren had distinguished himself in battle and in service to his homeworld. Being accepted into the Spectres was not only a great honour for the candidate's species; Saren had made it his purpose on the day his brother had died. Saren had vowed to avenge him.

Being a Spectre had its privileges; he mostly had the freedom to choose his own assignments and he had all the Council funding he would ever need. Ironically his quest for vengeance usually led him to criminals who dealt with merchandise on the black markets – everything from weapons to information. The way he saw it; he was getting what he wanted while appeasing the Council. He took what he needed from criminals and then killed them. Fortunately the Council didn't question his methods as long as he adhered to the mandate of preserving the galaxy. This expedition had been two decades in the making and Saren was finally beginning to taste the fruits of his labours. Nihlus clearly hadn't understood that Saren's pursuits were for the betterment of the entire galaxy.

As Nihlus's mentor; the blame for Nihlus's shortcomings lay with Saren. The turian meritocracy system organised society into tiers and dictated that it was the duty of higher-ranked citizens to both lead and protect their subordinates. Promotion to a higher tier was possible but was only attained if a turian's superiors and co-workers recommended it and delivered a positive personal assessment of the turian question. On the other hand, failure in a turian's position led to demotion (the turian's weren't generous with second chances); however, the culpability was with those who had endorsed the promotion when the individual clearly hadn't been ready for such responsibility.

Nihlus had actually been discharged from the turian military (the greatest dishonour a turian could incur) after three successive reassignments had failed to rehabilitate his disobedience. Fortunately he'd met Saren and had been given a new life in the Spectres. As a result, Saren felt personally responsible for Nihlus. The truth was that he had seen a lot of himself in Nihlus – the recklessness; the disregard for orders; the burden of pressure from others who both expected and demanded great things from him.

Turian protocol demanded that he practise a special ritual to acknowledge the dishonour he harboured over his former student. In order to do so; he had locked himself away in his quarters, playing up to the tenet of the visionary needing time to ascertain the future. He knew that his crew was waiting for his next instructions. He was more than just their leader; he was a guide, a conduit between gods and pilgrims.

His ordeal with the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime had shaken him up more than he cared to admit. He had resorted to murderous glares and tantrums to banish the Matriarch from fussing over him. Her asari compassion was sometimes too infuriating to tolerate, but he couldn't deny that he held a great deal of respect for her. She had several centuries of wisdom and expertise over him. She was also key to his mission.

Just over twenty years ago, Saren had found himself on an assignment investigating the Alliance's activities involving AI research – a practice which was declared illegal according to the Citadel Conventions. During his investigation, Saren had come across the notes of the lead human scientist named Dr Shu Qian. Qian had discovered an artefact that piqued Saren's interest. Whatever it was; it sounded far too good for the humans to possess. And so Saren had followed the trail to Edan Had'dah; a batarian entrepreneur who used his wealth, amongst other things, to send out teams in search of advanced technologies – anything that would make him lots of credits. Anything that special and rare enough would have to be Prothean. The artefact in question had been discovered in 2162 near the Perseus Veil – a dangerous location thanks to its proximity to geth territory that no organic species dared to intrude upon.

Saren recognised the importance of the find; neither weak humans nor batarian scum were fit to claim it. And so Saren had disposed of the leads that had guided him to the artefact and had assumed control of Edan Had'dah's research teams. It turned out that the artefact was in fact a ship – the very same ship Saren was now using as his flagship. Technologically it was far beyond anything even the Council races possessed. But in order to understand its functions, Saren had spent much of the last two decades scouring the galaxy for Prothean clues.

In 2171 he had come across a paper, almost by accident, by a budding Prothean expert by the name of Dr Liara T'Soni. The turian Spectre had placed markers across the extranet designed to tag any news relating to the Protheans. Three years later T'Soni published another paper. Over the coming years Saren had learned that the asari scholar was widely ridiculed by the academic community for her unconventional theories – coupled with the fact that she had been the youngest asari ever to graduate at the prestigious University of Serrice since the founding governess herself. Saren had felt smug to realise T'Soni's potential when her colleagues didn't. The young asari was on to something, only no one realised it – no one but him. Thus he had decided that he needed to recruit her.

But tracking her down had been another matter altogether. The asari on the Citadel differed to those dwelling inside the Asari Republics. His inquiries to the university had been curtly turned away. It seemed that Dr T'Soni was often away on research leave; and nobody had much idea about her whereabouts at any given time. And so Saren had had to play the long game. Dr T'Soni may not have been on Thessia (the asari homeworld); but she did have family there. Her mother had turned out to be none other than a Matriarch; a powerful leader of a prominent confederacy within the city state of Armali. The Matriarch governed a Siari institution – a place where she taught young asari about the Siari religion and policies. She was widely respected and revered. Upon being granted an audience at the Matriarch's estate in Armali; Saren had noticed how Liara T'Soni was scorned by the Siari acolytes for abandoning them and betraying her mother's wishes. The Matriarch had pretended to be ignorant of her daughter's success at university, but Saren had found another person willing to remember the Matriarch's daughter.

Shiala Amellis had been serving as the superintendent of the Matriarch's estate. Before that, Saren learned that she had served Liara as her personal handmaiden since her birth. Shiala had confided in him that Liara was better off outside the Matriarch's estate; her intelligence meant that she was destined for better things – especially when Liara had always resented her mother's Siari teachings. But Shiala didn't know where Liara was either; they hadn't been in contact for many decades.

As a renowned Spectre; Saren had been received warmly at the Matriarch's estate. Ostensibly he was there to learn more about asari culture, but it was a perfect opportunity to get closer to the Matriarch.

The galaxy should have been more wary of the asari. They were a confounding species for a great many reasons. Firstly they were single-sexed; most dual-sexed species in the galaxy categorised the asari as female due to their physical external characteristics. Non-confrontational by nature, the asari had been happy to cater to the majority. Translation matrices were modified to ascribe feminine pronouns to the asari. The asari had long since included words in their languages to account for the different sexes of plant and animal life native to their home system. The result on the Citadel was that the universal classification was 'he', 'she' or 'it'.

Understanding one another in speech was a small part of the problem. The asari were telepaths and had spent much of their civilisation communicating as such until they had encountered other species. Thousands of years had altered many cultures; the asari had seemed to embrace new concepts with a little too much enthusiasm. Saren was personally suspicious of their compromises; any species that was willing to relinquish its true nature must have been weak. It was hard to be sure of anything with the asari; as telepaths, they found verbal deception easier and in fact acceptable. With the advent of a wider galactic community; the Asari Republics had since imposed laws preventing telepathic communication without prior permission.

The asari were nothing if not appeasers. They were pleasing on the eye too, which probably had something to do with the fact that they appeared ageless once they reached maturity. Their robust regenerative capabilities meant that the asari were gifted with a thousand years of longevity. This, however, came at a cost; they weren't sturdy in combat, nor were they fast-healing. Still, even a thousand-year-old Matriarch could appear not a day over forty in human terms. The Matriarch possessed physical beauty in addition to her aged wisdom, but Saren wasn't interested in her in any romantic sense.

It turned out that Dr T'Soni's mother not only had significant clout in the Republican Matriarchy; she also had several off-world investments in alien business ventures – a hobby that bred suspicion from the more conservative Matriarchs. So the Matriarch didn't just dabble in religious teachings after all. Her influence reached further than Saren could have imagined. Out of all the races in the galaxy; the asari were the most knowledgeable since they were the 'first race'. The Matriarch could have given Edan Had'dah a run for his credits when it came to Prothean collections. Saren had silenced the batarian long ago; the Matriarch seemed like a suitable replacement – especially if she could lead him to her daughter, Dr Liara T'Soni.

 

* * *

 

Saren's team had established a command centre. The ship hadn't come ready-furnished, and so Saren had organised seating areas and living quarters (although the geth, as synthetics, had no need for these things). In addition to a group of mercenaries loyal to Saren, the Matriarch had brought a delegation of her most trusted and loyal followers with her. The superintendent of her estate and recently-graduated commando, Shiala, was at her side almost permanently. While Saren had initially been suspicious of her in the beginning; he couldn't deny that it was advantageous to have an asari commando on his team. In her fourth century, Shiala was in her prime. Commandos spent their maidenhood training in more forms of combat than Saren could count; they were biotic specialists and expert survivalists. If nothing else Shiala proved to be a quite popular security officer between Saren's team and the geth. He had never seen anyone say 'please' or 'thank you' to a synthetic; but Shiala was inherently polite. She was also close to her mistress, the Matriarch – hardly surprising since they had known one another for roughly two centuries. But Saren was growing more and more frustrated by their apparent solidarity; trying to catch one alone without the other was very difficult.

It didn't surprise him that Shiala was presiding over the bridge in his stead. Each asari had unique facial markings that were at least partially inherited genetically from the birth mother. Unlike the Matriarch; Shiala had a kind of butterfly-shaped pattern on her forehead in addition to markings around her eyes.

"Report," he snarled.

Shiala rose to her feet at the sound of his voice and gave a low bow – just as she did to her mistress (and even to the geth). "We've identified the ship on Eden Prime. It was a Human Alliance vessel under the command of a Captain David Anderson." She paused when she glimpsed Saren's mandibles twitch with evident displeasure. "The humans managed to save the colony."

Saren stepped up to her and leered at her. "How?"

"The sensors show an energy discharge that damaged the geth technology. The explosive never detonated."

"And now the humans have it in their possession?" Saren inhaled sharply and clamped his talons around her neck, squeezing her tightly.

"What have I told you about your temper?" the Matriarch calmly chastised him, the hem of her robes billowing as she marched onto the bridge. "Release her _now_."

Saren scowled at the asari in his grip; he growled when he saw resignation in her eyes instead of fear. The problem with organic staff was that they had minds of their own. The geth were either collectively obedient or collectively disobedient. Saren couldn't afford to have one rogue anomaly among his flesh and blood colleagues. All it took was for one person to have ideas above their station... Without thinking about it, he tightened his grip. "The humans will have gone running to the Council."

Seeing Shiala wince, her mistress stepped up to them. "And you will be available to take their call," she supplied steadily. She studied her former acolyte closely. "You have displeased your master, Shiala. You will bring us better news in future."

Shiala shifted her eyes to her. Trying to appeal for her help was pointless; the Matriarch was not as sympathetic and supportive as she had once been. The mere thought caused Shiala's eyes to well with tears, but she knew better than to reveal her weakness. With the life being squeezed from her throat, 'Yes' was all she managed to gasp.

"Release her," the Matriarch repeated evenly, yet with an unmistakable note of authority in her voice.

It was true that Saren had been short-tempered recently, and that the asari Matriarch had been the one to keep him in check. She had prevented him from lining up his most incompetent staff and shooting them. Destroying a geth platform would only provide limited pleasure; a geth program could simply download into a new platform. Still, Saren hadn't risked provoking the geth; their alliance was fragile enough as it was.

Conceding to her command, Saren allowed Shiala to go free. There was a thin line of blood forming around her throat from the razor sharpness of his talons which Saren took satisfaction in as he stepped away and claimed the captain's chair.

"I should have bombarded them from orbit," he muttered. He glared round at the Matriarch. "To think I allowed your sympathies for the colonists to cloud my better judgement..."

The Matriarch wordlessly directed Shiala to stand aside so as not to incur Saren's anger again. "The more lives we spare; the more we will deliver to salvation. That is what you want, isn't it?"

"Those humans were not worthy of ascension."

"It is the duty of the strong to help the weak," the Matriarch intoned. "You taught me that."

It was a fundamental turian principle; superiors led and protected their insubordinates, in society and in battle. Meeting her gaze, Saren barely nodded. "I never thought I would see the day where I would help humanity. But you taught me that all life in this galaxy shares a common origin; we are all brothers and sisters. Even the humans must not be left behind."

"We will ascend together," the Matriarch agreed, taking a seat beside him.

"Eden Prime was a major victory," Saren admitted. "The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit." He sensed the bristle of anticipation sweep over the bridge crew. He needed to secure their loyalty; he had no intentions of revealing that he had yet to gain an epiphany from the strange vision the Prothean beacon had given him.

"And one step closer to the return of the Reapers," the Matriarch punctured the anxious silence. Whether she could sense Saren's angst and feelings of pressure to deliver, he couldn't be sure. "I know of another location of Prothean treasure," the Matriarch continued; "There is an ice planet in the Crescent Nebula, on the edge of asari space."

Standing guard with her hands clasped behind her back, Shiala's gaze twitched.

Saren had relied a lot on the asari Matriarch thus far. "Very good, Mistress. But what do we do when the limits of your knowledge in this matter are exhausted? Locating the missing pieces of the puzzle is important, but our efforts would be improved if we had an expert on our side. Have you made any progress locating your daughter?"

"As you know; she travels frequently as part of her field research."

"I need her." Saren paused and changed tack. " _We_ need her." He glanced at the asari commando he had nearly strangled. "Shiala, you are Liara's closest friend. Surely you would like the opportunity to see her again?"

"I would," she admitted quietly, lowering her eyes in repentance when the Matriarch looked sharply at her.

Saren was satisfied. "Liara has loved ones here; hopefully she will be more agreeable than Nihlus was. Together, we will all be like family. Am I not the Siar you always wanted for your grandchildren, Mistress? I will bring about your absolution. And, together; we will deliver the galaxy to salvation."

Shiala turned around to hide her pained expression. "I will lead a scouting party into the Crescent Nebula."

"Negative," Saren denied her. "I want you here." He needed to observe her activities, to measure the extent of her devotion. "Have Commander Jacobus take a contingent of geth and search the planet."

Shiala hesitated for all of two moments. "At once...sir."

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy,_ somewhere inside the Exodus Cluster**

Captain Anderson had faced many difficult predicaments in his career – each more precarious and testing than the last. Taking responsibility for victories and failures was all part of being in command. There was something to be said for being a minion taking orders and being free of consequences. Being promoted to the chair (so to speak) was supposed to be a privilege compared to slugging it on the frontlines. The truth was that he felt removed and therefore frustrated. If only he could physically sustain the wounds himself rather than have to stand back and watch injured marines get pulled in on stretchers. He'd never felt so useless in his entire career.

Essentially his job was to clean up the mess his people had created – and, boy, had they made one hell of a pig's ear. On paper the mission had been simple; fly in silently, collect the package, return to the Citadel. Somewhere along the line, the geth had become involved as well as zombies. Anderson was sceptical; he was more convinced that he was caught up in the middle of a poorly-scripted nightmare. Individual interviews with Lieutenant Alenko and Gunnery-Chief Williams hadn't exactly allayed the implausible nature of the situation he now found himself in. Anderson could just imagine Udina's voice in his mind, describing the whole thing as a 'political shitstorm'. As distraught as Anderson was; he was at least grateful that he wasn't in Admiral Hackett's shoes. The discovery of the Prothean artefact would have to be declassified. Political, military and spiritual leaders from the Council races would no doubt argue that they should have been involved – which also meant that the Council's decision to give the Alliance the benefit of the doubt would blow up in their faces.

In an effort to buy time to figure out what to do next; Anderson had ordered Joker to hold the _Normandy_ 's position inside the Exodus Cluster. With no unfriendly ships on the sensors, it was safe to drift through space. He had already received reports of human ships landing on Eden Prime to execute cleanup. He was almost fearful to be kept in the loop about what their findings uncovered. There was no doubt that the situation had escalated far beyond his control; it was only a matter of time until word spread to Council space. Anderson knew full-well that he would have to turn himself and his crew in sooner or later.

"Our understanding of Prothean technology is extremely limited, Captain," Anderson vaguely registered Lieutenant Adams talking to him. He was a plain man with kind face and an unremarkable voice to soothe you to sleep. "The data cache they found on Mars was designed to be accessible to others. My team can't make heads or tails of these bits and pieces. There's only one thing I can say for sure; and that's that the beacon is broken. The power source is depleted and I haven't found any residual energy traces on the fragments."

Anderson blinked out of his reverie; he realised that his attention had wavered and drifted while his chief engineer had delivered a meaningless technical speech. "I see."

"It's completely dead, sir."

"I got that much, Lieutenant; thank you." Anderson sighed heavily. He had every right to be distracted with everything going wrong, but that didn't mean that he should take his nerves out on colleagues who were only trying to help him. With this in mind; he did his utmost to return his attention to the task at hand. Managing to secure the geth explosive and the remnants of the Prothean artefact in quarantine had felt like a consolation prize at the time. He had been hoping for answers; something he could use to pacify the Council when the time came. "Anything new on the enemy vessel?"

"No joy from penetrating scans; we were being jammed the whole time. I've never seen such complex encryption algorithms – they're for a smarter man than me to figure out."

Anderson was slightly taken-aback by his words. Having served on every class of Alliance space vehicle from frigates to dreadnoughts; Lieutenant Greg Adams had been a sound choice as chief engineer. Apparently naval service now required a lot more than expertise in different drive cores.

"I can make one deduction," Adams continued. "There's no way that ship should have been able to land on a planet. The amounts of power required to generate mass effect fields powerful enough to reduce the gravity of a dreadnought of those proportions... It's technology way, _way_ beyond us – beyond the Council races even."

Anderson narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. If someone like Saren had got his hands on superior technology, not to mention building his own army... Not only had Saren committed an act of treason against the Citadel Conventions; but he was a definite threat to humanity. _This mission just gets better and better._ He squeezed his temples and sighed heavily. "What about the _Normandy_?"

"We shouldn't have burned her that hot on her first run."

"She can handle it," Anderson was confident.

Adams was a little less enthusiastic. "Perhaps she can, sir; but I don't think the crew can." He consulted his datapad. "As it is, we fried a few non-critical systems. All primary systems are back online and good to go."

Anderson considered his words. "I won't risk taking this ship anywhere until she's a hundred percent. Oh, and, Lieutenant; take your time."

"Sir?"

"I need to stall the Council."

Adams smiled knowingly. "Aye, aye, sir. Now that I think about it, the deuterium conduits should be properly cleaned and polished to avoid a fatal build-up of residue."

Anderson clapped his shoulder. "I'll leave that in your very capable hands."

 

* * *

 

Gunnery-Chief Ashley Williams's idea of relieving stress had been to pit herself against three burly marines in the sparring ring down in the cargo hold on Deck 3. Ever since the doctor had given her a clean bill of health, she had wasted no time getting into a brawl. Every punch she threw, every blow she took was one step closer to blocking out the faces of her unit. Just like on Eden Prime; she was determined to be the last person standing in the ring every time. Jacking up the difficulty by adding more opponents only served to fuel her purpose. She was a survivor.

She didn't even pause when one of the marines landed heavily from a plum shot she had scored to his face. She was angry that she'd been deprived of her birthday celebrations on Eden Prime with her friends, her family.

The second marine came at her from behind, but she was ready for him. She thrust her elbow back into his stomach, slammed her foot down on his and then threw her knuckles up into his face, inciting a satisfying 'crack'.

"Shit!" he gasped, staggering back and cradling his broken nose. "What did you do that for?"

"Don't hesitate or you're dead," she answered darkly, sweeping his legs out from under him. Two down, one to go.

"We're not the enemy here," said the third marine, blocking her swipe and pushing her back.

Ash prowled around the edge of the mat; she was glad that he had more fight in him than his fallen comrades. It wasn't that long ago her own comrades had been alive, drinking beer and laughing over the fire while eating Nirali Bhatia's home-cooking... Ash clenched her fists. It was a perverse joke that she'd finally accomplished her childhood dream of serving on a spaceship. It had come at a high price – too high. What she wouldn't give to turn back the clock...

Without warning, she launched herself at the enemy combatant. Despite his persistent defence, she hurled jab after punch. The more force she exerted into each swing, the more she was setting herself up to fall. It was only a matter of time until the other marine waited for her to tire and picked out her vulnerable spot.

Ash nearly lost her balance altogether when she felt a sharp, searing pain on her forehead. Her guard had been breached. She reached up to sample the wetness and brought down two crimson fingertips. Suddenly she recalled Dr Manuel Cayce's words in her mind; if only she'd listened to him and ordered the damn artefact to be buried. Would that have saved her friends?

The marine's victory was short-lived. He had little time to raise his hands before Ash bellowed a feral cry and bludgeoned him to the ground. She stood over the tangled heap of bodies and panted heavily.

"Let's go again."

"You're killing us, Chief," someone managed to groan; "we need time-out."

"Spacer pussies," she spat. Her guys were made of tougher stuff. But, then, they were all dead... "Let's call it a day," she conceded, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. Perhaps she'd sustained a concussion.

The marines didn't argue with her. She reached for her towel and turned around in time to see Captain Anderson emerge from Engineering.

"Captain!" she called out, slinging her towel over her shoulder and jogging up to him.

"Chief." He looked her over and noted the dark blood streaming from her eyebrow. "You might want to get that looked at; I think you'll need stitches."

Ash reached up and wiped the blood with the back of her hand, not caring if the gesture was undignified. "I'm good, sir. Actually I was wondering if you have a moment."

Anderson sighed. "You're going to have to join the queue, Chief. If only I'd been this popular at secondary school. I'm just on my way to make a call to the Council; I figure it'll look better if I call them rather than wait for them to call me."

"Right." Ash matched his brisk pace toward the elevator. "I know this isn't a good time, but...what about me? I don't belong here, sir."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Williams. Under normal circumstances, someone would've given you an orientation of the ship to help you settle in. As it is..."

"Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't even be here."

Anderson stopped to press the panel beside the elevator. On top of everything else, he really didn't have time for pastoral concerns right now; although he couldn't help but take notice of the chief's disorientation ever since coming aboard. "Then let me be the first to say 'welcome to the fleet'." He turned and offered his hand to her, then smiled when she had to change hands at the last moment before she accidentally transferred her blood onto him. "You'd better grab a bunk, Chief; they go like hot cakes around here. Of course, if you want the full navy experience; we've got a complement of sleeper pods."

Ash felt decidedly dejected as she stood rooted to the spot and watched Anderson enter the elevator without her. "Yes, sir."

"Go see the doctor," he offered as a parting sentiment. "That's an order."

 

* * *

 

The elevator was agonisingly slow and Captain Anderson wasn't getting any younger. He made a mental note to assign someone to improving its efficiency. If there was an emergency, it would take him forever to get to the CIC. The more time he had to be idle, the more his thoughts churned and tortured him. He sighed with relief when the doors finally opened onto Deck 2. A little light exercise climbing a flight of stairs and he was on Deck 1. Rather than entering the CIC proper; he wheeled round and ducked into the comm room before someone else could flag him down for yet another issue that demanded his attention.

He hadn't been this nervous since his ex wife had gone into labour for the first time. Of course that hadn't had ramifications on a galactic scale. He was about to speak with the representatives of the three most powerful species in the galaxy. That was no small feat.

The _Normandy_ was the first Alliance ship to be installed with holographic technology conforming to Council standards. Every ship under Council jurisdiction was also fitted with a special interface to connect with the Council directly. The _Normandy_ wasn't officially under Council jurisdiction but the turian engineers had been working out of habit. The feature came in handy now that Anderson and his crew were unofficially on a Council mission.

Placing his palm on the flashing orange button on the console, Anderson waited patiently while it sampled his biometric readings. The light winked green, confirming the temporary clearance he had been given to communicate with the councillors. As though on cue, three life-sized holograms of the Citadel Council popped up in front of him. Like last time; the asari councillor was standing in the centre while the salarian was stood on her left and the turian councillor was stood on her right.

Anderson felt his stomach clench and he unconsciously reached up to tug at the tight collar stifling his neck. "Councillors," he forced himself to partake in the pleasantries.

" _Captain Anderson,"_ Sparatus, the turian councillor, greeted him curtly. _"We expected to hear a report from Nihlus."_

Anderson grimaced; he had been hoping to work his way up to the bad news at a nice, steady pace. Evidently he had no such luck. "I don't know how to tell you this," he admitted. "Councillors, the mission..." Before he could stop himself, he blurted out the words as fast as he could. "Someone got to Eden Prime before us; the entire colony was wiped out; Nihlus is dead; there was this bomb, but the Prothean artefact got destroyed; my ground team got injured – Commander Shepard is in some kind of coma -"

Tevos, the asari, held her hand up to induce his silence. _"Start from the beginning, Captain. What happened?"_

Anderson was breathing heavily. "Someone got the jump on us, Councillors. Eden Prime was already under siege when we arrived. From what my people tell me; it was the geth."

" _That's impossible,"_ Councillor Valern, the salarian, assured him. _"The geth have not left the Perseus Veil since the quarians fled. So far they have shown that they have no concern for the affairs of us organics. Why would they reveal themselves now? It makes no sense."_

"I'm as surprised as you are," Anderson muttered. "But it's no coincidence that they go after Eden Prime shortly after the discovery of the Prothean artefact."

" _I don't see how the geth would be interested in Prothean technology,"_ Sparatus replied. _"They've had ample opportunity to show interest before now, and they haven't."_

Anderson sighed heavily. "I don't know why the geth have left the Perseus Veil now or why. I only know that they were on Eden Prime and they were after the Prothean artefact."

Councillor Valern folded his arms. _"Our intelligence would have reported geth intrusion."_

"Not necessarily. We couldn't get any sensor readings of the enemy ship; they were emitting a jamming signal my techs haven't seen before."

" _How convenient,"_ Sparatus muttered.

Councillor Tevos stepped in to play her part as mediator. _"You must understand that your claims are somewhat...absurd. Without proof, how are we to believe you?"_

"Wait for the reports from the relief ships on Eden Prime. They can confirm geth presence."

Tevos nodded. _"We will."_

" _How did Nihlus die?"_ Sparatus butted in.

"I don't know," Anderson admitted; "I wasn't there, but I'm sorry for your loss."

Sparatus was unimpressed by his sympathy. _"Your people are incompetent. Humanity is nowhere near ready to join the Spectres."_

" _At the moment humanity's admission into the Spectres is not our main concern,"_ Tevos reminded them. _"The fact is that we have lost a priceless ancient artefact that can never be replaced."_

Something in Anderson tripped. "Is that all you care about? – The damn Prothean artefact? Haven't you listened to a word I've said? Thousands of innocent humans are dead!"

Tevos dipped her chin. _"Of course. I did not mean to belittle -"_

"We're just lesser meat to you, aren't we? – Acceptable losses. It's our fault that we went and colonised regions beyond the Citadel's protection." Anderson glared at each councillor in turn; their silence spoke volumes. "I don't have time for this. Three people made it off Eden Prime alive, and one of them is in critical care."

" _They survived that bomb you mentioned?"_ Valern jumped in.

"They were lucky that bomb never detonated. As far as we can tell; the Prothean beacon emitted some kind of electro-magnetic pulse shortly after Commander Shepard came into contact with it."

Tevos was rarely impatient, but she seemed concerned all of a sudden. _"Are you saying that Commander Shepard interacted with the beacon?"_

"I don't know what happened, Councillors. Lieutenant Alenko and Chief Williams described it as Shepard getting hit by some kind of energy discharge. Then the beacon exploded, sending out the EMP which rendered the bomb inert."

Valern squeezed what could only be the salarian equivalent of a chin. _"Obviously the beacons were not designed to interact with any physiology except Prothean physiology. It is likely that the beacon's power source overloaded with the incompatibility of a non-Prothean. The EMP, as you describe it, is likely a last-resort security mechanism."_

" _It sounds dangerous,"_ Councillor Tevos agreed. _"Have you been able to ascertain the severity of Commander Shepard's condition?"_

"I don't understand much beyond the fact that she's in some kind of coma. And the only way we'll know what happened for sure is when Shepard wakes up – _if_ she wakes up."

Councillor Tevos softened her expression. _"Our thoughts are with her. Let us hope that she wakes up and provides us with the answers we need."_

Anderson held his tongue. There was more to tell, but he needed to keep something up his sleeve for when they reached the Citadel and he needed a contingency plan. He had to be cooperative, not desperate.

Sparatus's sigh sounded more like a low growl. _"This delay isn't helping matters. If, as you say, the geth are involved...we will need to take appropriate measures to secure our space. I trust you will return the Prothean beacon to us?"_

'Return'? Anderson restrained his frown as best as he could. Pointing out that the Council races were arrogant and supercilious probably wasn't the best idea he'd had all day. Nobody owned that beacon, though many had tried to claim it. "We managed to salvage a few fragments," he admitted.

" _And I suppose you're busy studying them to further Alliance interests?"_ Sparatus challenged him.

"No, Councillor; I have more pressing concerns on my mind like the welfare of my people."

The pair locked gazes; tension between turians and humans wouldn't dissipate over night, that was for sure.

" _When can we expect you on the Citadel?"_ Tevos enquired, breaking up the fight before it could begin.

Anderson didn't peel his gaze from the turian councillor. "We overcooked the heat sinks longer than we were meant to, so we're still undergoing repairs before we can make a mass relay jump."

" _We would be happy to dispatch a ship to aid your efforts,"_ Valern offered.

Anderson had been afraid of that. "Thank you, Councillor, but I've got my best engineers working around the clock. It shouldn't take too long. ETA is sometime tomorrow."

" _We look forward to it,"_ said Sparatus evenly.

" _Thank you for keeping us apprised, Captain,"_ Tevos added. She seemed to understand that Anderson had been afraid to initiate this meeting in case he got into trouble. As painful as owning up to the truth was; it was better in the long run than trying to hide. _"I wish you and your crew a safe journey."_

Anderson watched the trio of holograms flicker and disappear until he was staring at a grey bulkhead. Suddenly he was quite alone with his thoughts and concerns. He mentally went through his checklist; he'd spoken with Alenko, Williams, Adams and the Council. All that was left to do before he became a lamb to the slaughter was to check in on Shepard and see if there was any change to her comatose condition. She'd had the better end of the bargain, getting to sleep through Anderson's never-ending stream of problems. She couldn't possibly know that she was his one last hope of salvaging goodwill for humanity.

 

* * *

 

Captain Anderson couldn't help but smile when he saw that Joker was snoozing in a chair at Shepard's bedside; as much as Joker and Shepard had seemed to be at odds with one another in the early days of the mission; it was more like a case of sibling rivalry rather than actual dislike for each other. Joker had thrown a jealous tantrum and had seemed to resent Shepard's undeserved successes. Funny how it took something serious like a life-threatening injury to clear the air and settle their differences.

Joker had taken up residence at Shepard's side in her time of need; he'd gone as far as to relinquish his beloved helm to another pilot, and he had only left for toilet breaks and to get food. His beard was looking thicker than ever but Anderson wasn't about to judge him for his unkempt appearance. The rest of the crew was still in mourning for young Corporal Jenkins; even Anderson hadn't had time to change into a fresh set of uniform for two days. Everyone deserved some slack, but Anderson feared that they weren't out of the woods yet – not by a long shot. It was times like these that made him realise that no matter what the galaxy threw at them; they were all in it together, side by side.

Anderson forbade himself from thinking about his family; but every so often he couldn't help it. The military was supposed to be like one big family, but sometimes it was all-too-easy to feel lonely in the crowd. For some; it was a satisfactory substitute. For others it was a blatant reminder of the empty voids in their lives. Anderson had tried to conform to the 'happy family in the suburbs' way of life – the wife; the two kids; even the SUV. Needless to say that he hadn't survived long before he had started to climb the walls out of restlessness and boredom. He had felt like a de-clawed cat. He just hadn't been 'built' for the quiet civilian life. In his mind, he had been doing his family a favour when he'd left. He belonged on the frontlines; he'd always felt much more comfortable in a uniform rather than jeans and a sweater. Sitting at the kitchen table trying to figure out the monthly household bills had felt trivial when he had once been in the trenches, fending off alien aggressors and defending humanity. Even so he had had to convince himself that fighting for the Alliance on a larger scale was fighting for his sons too. He'd hoped that they could understand the choice he'd made when they came to grow up. That day had come and gone, and he hadn't received the news he'd been hoping for.

His ex wife, Cynthia, hadn't stayed single. Anderson remembered the angry night he'd spent getting drunk and punching the walls when he'd found out that his sons were calling another man 'Dad'. Granted it had taken some time for him to realise that he wasn't really angry at a faceless man he'd never met; he was angry at himself for being a failure. In time he had admitted that it was better for Henry and Jason to grow up with a father figure in their lives, even if it wasn't him. And from her letters, Cynthia was happy. There had been occasions when Anderson had picked apart every word and raged privately in his apartment, vowing to stomp back into their lives and claim back what was rightfully his. But eventually the day had come to accept the changes in his life and move on.

His sons were adults now. Anderson thought of all the things he had missed out on like the nerve-racking first day at school and the first girlfriend or boyfriend. Jason aspired to be an aerospace engineer; Anderson knew for a fact that he would've been very excited to learn about the _Normandy_. Anderson would've loved to give him a tour and talk him through the specs (though Lieutenant Adams was probably more qualified in that department). Henry was an athlete and wanted to make his way into a professional league some day. Anderson reminded himself that he hadn't been at Henry's side when he'd broken his leg in a sporting accident years ago. And yet here he was at Shepard's – seemingly more concerned about her wellbeing than he was for his own flesh and blood. He'd been there with her on her first day at the N7 academy. He'd even taken her untimely calls in the middle of the night and had listened patiently to her troubles with her latest girlfriend. He'd given her all the advice and lessons he should've imparted on his own children.

Anderson couldn't say why it was less intimidating to be fatherly to Shepard. He hadn't known her parents that well; the Shepard family was a well-established naval family and the members were often deployed at opposite ends of the galaxy. Shepard had never been that close to her parents either; she'd never really had the opportunity.

Anderson had never tried to replace her father (even back when she'd had one); he was just a mentor. Even so, Shepard had the uncanny ability to tug at his heart strings when he least expected it. He'd shared her trials and successes; he felt an odd sort of tingle in the bowels of his stomach whenever he saw her laugh or cry. Whenever she was in trouble; he was too. He cared about her. She had brought out his softer side; one that he couldn't even show to his sons or to other people he wanted to develop closer relationships with. Sometimes he was wary of Shepard and other times he loved her for it. Everyone had an Achilles' heel.

Right now he felt a little guilty that he was claiming all the entitlements to worry about Shepard's welfare when her real parent deserved to. Shepard had been injured on a classified mission which meant that Captain Anderson was forbidden from contacting her next of kin. He doubted whether he would've been able to get hold of Staff-Commander Hannah Shepard anyway. Her ship, the _SSV Kilimanjaro_ , was a dreadnought – the largest class in the Alliance navy. Her job as XO would have been far more hectic than what Shepard would have to put up with on the _Normandy_.

 _If she gets better_ , Anderson thought grimly. She'd been injured because of his stupid plans for her. His job urged him to distance himself from getting personal. He couldn't understand how Hannah had managed to stay away from Shepard these last five years. Didn't she worry about what Shepard was doing? Of course she'd been perfectly safe on Arcturus until Anderson had come along and transferred her to his command. Hannah probably didn't know this yet. And now it was too late... Anderson honestly couldn't predict how someone like Hannah would react to Shepard getting hurt. After witnessing the atrocities on Mindoir; the woman seemed a bit cold emotionally – which was understandable. She kept herself guarded to avoid future pain. Anderson was the least qualified person in the galaxy to lecture about parenting. But now that he thought about it; he was starting to notice certain similarities between himself and Shepard's mother. Hannah Shepard had no qualms with hundreds of officers and marines under her command, but she couldn't handle taking care of her only daughter. Anderson didn't know whether to feel comforted or aggrieved that he wasn't the only failed parent in the galaxy.

"Hello again, Captain."

Anderson tore his fond gaze away from the scene of Joker and Shepard unconscious together and looked up to see the ship's doctor enter from the storeroom at the back of the infirmary. "Any change, Karin?"

Dr Karin Chakwas was an old acquaintance; they had worked many missions together in the past and she was the only doctor he trusted with his life. She may have been silver-haired but she had aged gracefully. He had often sought her wise counsel in many matters and was relieved to have another more mature person on his crew so as not to feel out of touch with all the young, fit people around.

"I did say that I would inform you the second I had something new to report," Dr Chakwas reminded him. She matched his gaze and softened her expression. Lt Commander Shepard was hooked up to a variety of drips to feed her liquid sustenance since she couldn't eat or drink for herself. "I'm monitoring her condition very carefully; she'll wake up when she's ready to."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Anderson muttered. "I know how lazy she can be; I bet she's enjoying not lifting a finger."

"She'd better not get used to it," Chakwas replied seriously. "There's nothing physically wrong with her, other than the fact that she's unconscious. And as for this one," she turned her gaze to Joker who was snoring, oblivious to them and everything else. "I'm sparse on space as it is; this isn't a public lounge."

As though he had been signalled; Joker let out a particularly loud snore and suddenly jerked himself awake. "Wha-?" he mumbled.

"Nice of you to join us," said Captain Anderson evenly.

Joker reached his arms up above his head to stretch out his aches. "Whoa. _Someone_ needs deodorant." He leaned forward over Shepard's limp body and sniffed beside her shoulder.

"That would be you, Lieutenant Moreau," Dr Chakwas remarked dryly. "I've had to put up with this for three days," she added to Anderson. "It's just as well my sinuses are blocked from a mild head cold."

Anderson ignored both of them when he could've sworn that Shepard twitched. "I think she's waking up."

"Well, there's one way to find out." Joker laughed when Anderson batted his arm away before he could bare his armpit towards Shepard's nose. "I was just kidding." He bent over her again and whispered beside her ear; "Sarah Jane? Wakey-wakey." He drew back suddenly when she swiped at him. "Hey! That hurt," he cradled his sore arm.

Shepard had always loathed her name, thinking it was too girly. From childhood she'd always introduced herself as 'SJ' – most people took it as that; and if they asked, she got away with calling herself 'Shepard Junior' since her family was well-known. Only a select few people knew her real name, and the only time they dared use it was to annoy her or tell her off. There was no doubt that she responded to it. Trust Joker to know exactly how to get under her skin.

"Jeffrey." Shepard spoke with her eyes closed, yet there was an unmistakable smile playing across her lips.

Joker grinned. "Oh yeah; she's back."

Dr Chakwas ushered him aside and stood above her patient, penlight at the ready.

Shepard flinched at the unwelcome intrusion and blinked rapidly from the dazzling light.

"Hold still," Chakwas reproached her.

Joker placed his hand on Shepard's shoulder, reassuring her that all was okay.

"Heightened photosensitivity is normal for someone who has been asleep or in the darkness for a long period of time," the doctor remarked, making a note on her datapad. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant-Commander?"

Everyone backed away to give Shepard space to pull herself up into a sitting position. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she gingerly reached up to feel her sore head and groaned for her troubles. "Like the morning after shore leave."

Anderson folded his arms with a chuckle. "I'd say she's back to her old self, Karin."

Shepard ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Ugh. What did I miss?"

"You were out for three days," the doctor informed her.

" _Three days_?" Shepard echoed, looking up. "What happened to me?"

Anderson exchanged a glance with the others. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Shepard ran her fingers through her greasy hair. She didn't mind that someone had removed her combat hardsuit and had dressed her in a plain infirmary gown. Growing up on a space station where everyone lived on top of each other, personal space and modesty were hard to come by. Shepard was known to go about her daily business in her boxers and a t-shirt. Still, she would've appreciated a shower. "I dunno... We made it to the spaceport...but it was a trap." She looked up sharply. "There was an explosion..." Shepard looked around her at the sterile infirmary. "Funny; I had a different idea of what heaven would look like. No mojitos or girls in bikinis?"

"How do you know you're not in hell?" Joker pointed out. He pursed his lips when Anderson shot him a glare. "I was just...you don't know what a priceless opportunity this is, sir."

Anderson frowned. "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Lieutenant. I wonder if you'll still be smiling when you spend the rest of your life in a cell."

Joker took back his pointed finger and resolved to stay silent.

Shepard looked from her friend to her mentor. "What's going on, sir?"

But before the captain could explain, Dr Chakwas pushed between the two men. "First things first; I'm not finished here."

"Look, Doc; it's not that I don't appreciate you looking after me... I just usually like to get the name of a woman before I let her undress me."

Dr Chakwas sighed. "For the record; it was nothing I haven't seen before."

Shepard glanced down at herself. "Thanks. I think."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "At least I got the chance to perform your monthly physical while you were unconscious. For some reason every soldier manages to find an excuse to put it off. I wonder why that is?"

"Gee, I dunno," Joker scoffed. "Maybe if you tried handing out lollipops rather than injections..."

Dr Chakwas smiled thinly and spoke without looking at him. "Then you'll be pleased to know that I've devised a treatment regimen to help you manage your condition."

"What?" Joker blustered. "Hey, I'm just the innocent bystander here. I didn't ask for... Sorry, Shepard; you're on your own. I'm outta here."

"Oh thanks, Joker."

Joker edged toward the door. "I make it a point not to trust doctors whose names are an anagram of 'hacksaw'."

Shepard paled when the door closed. "He was kidding, right?"

Anderson shook his head with a chuckle. "Dr Chakwas is the best medical professional in the Alliance. You're in very safe hands, Shepard."

"Honestly!" Dr Chakwas looked up from her instruments. "I don't recall you complaining when I made you dinner the other night."

"Oh, the doc Anderson was afraid of being chased after with a frying pan... Yeah, I remember."

Dr Chakwas raised an eyebrow at Captain Anderson who raised his hands innocently. She rolled her eyes and prepared an injection. "Well, Commander; you're in fine physical shape. The results of your EEG are another matter. Not only do you show a staggering increase in beta waves; but your serotonin levels are abnormally low. These are signs typically associated with intense dreaming and short-term psychological trauma – hardly surprising after what you witnessed on Eden Prime. I'm going to give you a booster."

"Sure," Shepard flinched at the sudden, premature pinch on her neck; "go right ahead... That eager to get rid of me?"

"Honestly; with Lieutenant Moreau snoring for all of Earth and Captain Anderson here wearing down my infirmary floor; yes. I'm looking forward to some peace and quiet."

Anderson smiled. "Actually I need you to do me one more favour before you get back to your paperwork, Karin. Has Gunnery-Chief Williams been in here today?"

"No."

"I thought not. In that case I need you to take some thread and a plaster, and go and patch her up. I last saw her on Deck 3."

Dr Chakwas sighed. "So I'm making house calls now? Very well, Captain."

Relieved that the grumpy doctor was gone; Shepard hopped down from the bed and stretched her legs. "Is Williams okay?"

"She's a tough cookie."

Shepard was hardly about to contradict him. "The rest of the team? Jenkins... How's Alenko? He took it pretty hard."

"He's fine – a bit shaken-up maybe. What the hell was Jenkins even doing down there?"

Shepard grimaced. "I thought he could help us navigate the colony."

Anderson had long since changed to business mode. Now that Shepard was safe, he was now faced with the task of disciplining her rather than worrying about her. "That wasn't your call to make. You, Alenko and Nihlus were assigned to the mission – _not_ Jenkins."

Shepard hated getting told off by Anderson. The situation was made worse by the fact that she was dressed in a knee-length gown rather than proper clothes. She couldn't have felt less dignified if she'd tried. "I know, sir," she answered quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I know Alenko and Williams tried to sugar-coat things for me; but I'm not stupid. The mission went to hell. I think if Nihlus were still here; he would tell me that you lacked confidence in your ability to take command; you were indecisive and far too dependent on your subordinates. That sound about right?"

Shepard didn't know whether she was surprised that Williams hadn't given a damning report of her, or whether she was upset that Anderson was right. She realised that she felt both.

"Correct me if I'm wrong; but Alenko and Williams are the only reason you got off Eden Prime at all."

Shepard snapped. "Damn it, Anderson; you know I wasn't ready for something like this! You shouldn't have put me on the mission!"

"Maybe I shouldn't have," Anderson agreed. "As the commanding officer who posted you on the mission; it's my fault that Jenkins and Nihlus are dead."

Shepard grimaced when he turned away. "I'm sorry I let you down."

Anderson paused and dipped his chin. "No, Shepard; you let yourself down." He looked round at her. "Or doesn't that mean anything to you anymore?" He held her gaze. "There's no hiding from this. We're on our way to the Citadel right now."

Shepard lowered her guilty eyes to the floor. "What's going to happen?"

"Honestly? I don't know. The Alliance has diplomats to handle the political side of things." People like Donnel Udina. "As for us; we can all kiss our careers goodbye."

Shepard refused to accept that that was that. It wasn't even fair. They'd operated on insufficient intel and had been forced to improvise the best they knew how. "There must be a way to fix this. Let me talk to the Council -"

"Oh you'll be there all right. As far as they're concerned; you're the incompetent unprofessional that got one of their Spectres killed." Anderson paused for full effect of his words. "You know this could damage relations between the Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy. They could say you got Nihlus killed because you were xenophobic."

Shepard gawped, intending to speak, but was overcome by the injustice of it all.

"I'll be honest with you, Commander; it doesn't look good. The brass'll be calling for someone's head, and it's sure as hell not going to be mine. I need you to tell me exactly what went wrong down there."

"You should try asking your old pal Saren."

"Alenko and Williams told me what that scientist said. Unfortunately he did a convenient disappearing act – your story won't stand up in front of the Council. We need concrete evidence."

"What d'you mean Dr Cayce disappeared? There was no body from the explosion?"

"Not even a trace," Anderson folded his arms, ignoring the coffee stain on his sleeve. "The Prothean beacon exploded when you came into contact with it. It sent out some kind of disruptor EMP that sabotaged the geth bomb's function. The beacon's a total loss but we salvaged what we could. As for the scientist; he must've walked. We've got people on Eden Prime as we speak; they'll pick him up if he's still there."

Shepard nodded, marginally satisfied. "Then he can tell you and the Council all about Saren the prophet."

Anderson frowned. "What?"

"I dunno," Shepard squeezed her throbbing temples. "He spouted a load of crap about Saren being some prophet and the geth being pilgrims. I can't say I was a fan of Saren leaving that bomb for us."

"We were lucky it didn't detonate," Anderson agreed. "That device was packing enough punch to vaporise half the planet. Then again, that's Saren's style all right. He doesn't care about collateral damage as long as he gets the job done."

Catching his note of bitter nostalgia, Shepard watched him turn away and pace across the room. "Are you ever gonna tell me what happened between you two?"

"It's a long story," Anderson muttered. He paused for thought. "I can tell you what wasn't classified. Twenty years ago the Council didn't trust us with handling things on our own. I'd been leading a case for the Alliance but the Council intervened and posted Saren on the job. It was the only way I could see the case through. Unofficially I was a potential Spectre candidate. Our mission was to extract one man from a refinery and bring him in for questioning. Saren insisted we split up to cover more ground. I tried to reach our mark first. But then Saren started a cascade failure that blew up the entire facility, killing everyone...including the families of workers housed in camps on the outskirts. There were old people and children... But Saren didn't care. Our mark was dead and couldn't continue any more criminal activities. Case closed as far as Saren was concerned."

Shepard shared his disgust. "He was after the Prothean beacon. If he left it behind, he must've taken what he needed from it."

"Who knows what that was? Schematics for advanced weapons? All we know for sure is that it's bad news for the galaxy."

Shepard considered his words at length. "There's something else... I didn't want to say this before in case you and the doctor thought I was crazy." She leaned back against the bed, folded her arms and sighed heavily. "I had some kind of vision...from the beacon."

Anderson studied her intently and waited for her to elaborate.

"I saw...I'm not sure exactly. It was hazy, like I was watching from a distance. I just saw...death, destruction – some kind of battle, I think. I saw...I think they were synthetics."

"The geth?"

Shepard shrugged. "Maybe." She looked up. "I think it was a warning. They're coming."

Anderson scrutinised her in silence for a few moments. "So Saren's trying to deter us. Whatever he learned from that beacon, we've got to stop him – or at the very least we have to warn the Council. Thing is...they didn't believe me twenty years ago when I tried to tell them how rotten Saren is. He made sure that I didn't get into the Spectres; he gave the Council a report that blamed the refinery explosion on me. That's why giving us the lead on this mission was such a big step for the Alliance. Now Saren's ruined it all over again."

Shepard straightened up off the bed frame. "You said it yourself; whatever he's cooking up is bad for the galaxy. If we give up now; he would've won."

Anderson breathed deeply. "You realise we're biting off more than we can chew."

"What's new? Now that I've screwed things up; we don't exactly have much to lose."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "'We'?"

Shepard pulled a rueful expression. "You know what I mean. I don't know exactly what that vision meant, but I've got a feeling that we shouldn't ignore it."

" _We_ 'll see if the Council feels the same way," Anderson conceded.

 

* * *

 

After a much-needed hot shower (Shepard had indulged herself since she'd reasoned that she had three days' worth of showers to catch up on) and donning a clean set of crew fatigues; Shepard went to the mess to get some proper nourishment. Once she had loaded her tray with no less than three different desserts, she turned away from the lunch queue and spotted Lieutenant Alenko sitting by himself at a table in the corner. She decided to join him.

"Hey."

Kaidan looked up and was about to get to his feet.

"As you were. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." Kaidan slumped back down in his seat and sighed once Shepard had sat down. "I don't know who to write the telegram to. His whole family was on Eden Prime."

Shepard knew that he was referring to Jenkins; the loss was still raw. Now that they were off the field; they could mourn. "You really don't have to do this now, so soon after..."

"You were out for three days, ma'am," he reminded her.

"Right." She kept forgetting. It was strange to lose three days of her life like that.

"It's all my fault," he blurted. "Jenkins was only there because of me...because I let my personal feelings cloud my professional judgement. I thought I was giving him special treatment as a friend, but instead...I got him killed."

Shepard studied him intently. "Don't beat yourself up, Alenko; I thought he'd come in handy too. I take full responsibility for his death. We may both be Spectre candidates, but I'm still technically your superior officer."

Kaidan only managed the faintest of smiles. "Not only are we in trouble with the captain; but I can't see us being Spectre candidates for much longer. Somehow I don't think the Council will be too impressed that one of their agents got killed on an assignment with us. They're gonna blame us."

"Me," Shepard corrected him. "They're gonna blame _me_. I was the commanding officer and I screwed up."

"You did everything by the book, ma'am," Kaidan assured her.

"I broke radio silence," Shepard muttered. "For all we know; I gave Nihlus's position away."

"You can't think like that."

"And you can't think that you got Jenkins killed. We had no idea that there would be murderous synthetics and bloodthirsty...whatever they were."

Kaidan considered her words. "Touché."

Seeing him in slightly better spirits, Shepard turned her attention to her food and began sampling her treacle pudding. Alenko had only just noticed the mountain of food on her tray, but elected not to comment.

"So what happened to Williams?" Shepard asked with her mouth full.

"She's around here somewhere. Just between you and me; I think she's a bit lost."

"Yeah? I'm sure she's been busy making friends with her friendly demeanour and gentle disposition."

Kaidan cleared his throat loudly. "Ma'am?

Shepard looked up and froze when she saw none other than Gunnery-Chief Williams hovering uncertainly a few feet away from their table. "Chief," she greeted her evenly.

If Williams had eavesdropped on her sarcasm, she didn't acknowledge it. If anything she seemed a little nervous. "Commander. It was kinda touch and go there for a while... Looks like you pulled through okay."

"Yep."

"Well, that's...good."

Shepard considered her for a moment. "Wanna join us?"

Ash looked a little puzzled by the question. "I... You're both officers, ma'am."

"We don't bite," Kaidan assured her.

Shepard nodded her agreement and pushed one of the chairs out with her boot. "Take a pew."

Ash sat down slowly. "Do you know how many calories are in that?"

Shepard glanced at her incriminating tray. "I've got three days to catch up on."

"If you say so."

Shepard had lost her appetite all of a sudden. _Does she think I need to watch my figure?_ She pushed her tray aside. "What happened to your face?" she made a not-so-subtle gesture to her eyebrow that the doctor had taped up.

Ash smirked. "Stress relief with three strapping marines."

"Looks like we know who came out on top," Kaidan muttered. "I hope you didn't do any permanent damage to my marines."

" _Your_ marines, sir?"

Kaidan's cheeks took on a pinkish hue. "I just meant...I've been put in charge of marine detail."

"Nice one," Shepard congratulated him.

"Yeah; the captain thinks I have what it takes. I guess it won't matter when we reach the Citadel. This tour's been short, but not uneventful."

The table fell into a grim silence.

"You settling in okay?" Shepard asked Williams. "Pressly's been doing my job."

Ash shrugged. "I don't really know what I expected. I know everyone looks at me like I don't belong here. It's like I'm a replacement for that kid...Jenkins. What was he like?"

Shepard regretted that she couldn't answer the question. But Kaidan could.

"He, er...he was a good kid. He was always raring to go; he inspired his colleagues. He may have been young; but he was brave. He used to make me laugh...and I'm not really a guy who has a lot of laughs, you know? He was...a really good friend. He didn't judge me for being who I am."

"Write this down for the telegram," Shepard suggested.

Kaidan looked from her to Williams and saw that they were both silently supportive. "Yeah... But what's the point if no one's going to read it? Some clerk in an Alliance office on Earth won't care or understand."

"Doesn't he have family?" Ash asked.

"He was born and raised on Eden Prime," Kaidan replied quietly.

"I was born on a colony too, but all human colonists originated from Earth; there's gotta be someone out there for him. I'll help you look him up. I've gotta trace my whole unit when we get to the Citadel, so..." Ash trailed off and the atmosphere thickened with awkward tension once more. "Have you guys been to Earth?"

"I did some training there," Shepard volunteered when Kaidan sat looking miserable. "Nothing beats Macapá boot camp with -"

"Gunny Ellison," Ashley completed. "No way."

Shepard smiled. "I've got the scars to prove it."

Ash laughed at that; "My whole unit came from him." She brooded in silence for a few moments. "We had one day to go on that rotation. It was my birthday too; we were gonna have a big bash to celebrate the last time we were all gonna be together. I just..." She took a deep breath. " _And we who see should not forget that in this soldier's final debt And sacrifice for duty's sake, it is the loved ones who must take The hurt, to bear as best they can, and face a future lesser than The one they dreamed in bygone years, now to regard with bitter tears, Reflecting, as time intervenes, on thoughts of how it might have been._

" _But in their grief there's quiet pride that loved ones bravely fought and died Believing in a worthy goal which helps give solace, and consoles By knowing that the loss they bear is shared by all our peoples where In gratitude, their names will be forever honoured, guaranteed To be remembered and enshrined, beyond the shifting sands of time._ "

"That's beautiful," Kaidan remarked softly. "What is it?"

"An excerpt from 'Home at Last' by Tony Church – an Earth poet."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, though she was more impressed than sceptical. "I didn't have you down as the poetry type, Williams."

Ash froze. She started to frown when she realised that she'd already been caught in the act. "Just because I can drill you between the eyes at a hundred metres doesn't mean I can't like sensitive stuff. Just don't go spreading it around or I'll have to kill you. Sirs," she added quickly.

Shepard grinned. "Your secret's safe with us, Chief."

"Yeah," Kaidan agreed. "And both your birthdays were in the last week; looks like drinks are on me when we get to the Citadel."

Shepard rubbed her hands together. "Now you're talking, LT."

Ash smiled, despite herself. "You guys aren't so bad after all."

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy_ , Serpent Nebula (Widow System)**

The next morning; Commander Shepard, Lieutenant Alenko and Gunnery-Chief Williams were summoned to the CIC. Crossing the bridge into the crowded cockpit; all three of them stopped to salute Captain Anderson who was waiting for them with a rare smile plastered across his face.

"At ease. There's something I thought you might like to see."

"Did you bring popcorn?" Joker quipped from his seat at the helm of the ship.

"I barely survived Dr Hacksaw," Shepard stepped up behind him and prodded his shoulder.

"Very traumatic," Ash feigned seriousness.

Anderson cleared his throat to attract their attention as well as shooting a reproachful look Shepard's way. "We're on our final approach to the Citadel."

The Widow System bore no planets, yet it was home to the Serpent Nebula; a dense blue-tinted cloud. The light of the nebula was in fact a reflection from the dispersion of light coming from deep inside its heart. The nebula was an effective means of defence for the all-important Citadel Station. The Serpent Nebula hadn't dissolved over time as other nebulae had; therefore its particles had to have been replenished on a regular basis. The existing theory maintained that originally the nebula consisted of microscopic construction debris from when the Protheans had built the Citadel. The debris was constantly restocked thanks to the Citadel's keepers reducing non-recyclable waste to a molecular level and expelling it into the clouds.

The Citadel was conveniently placed here as a hub to the dozens of mass relays scattered throughout the nebula. Truly this was the nerve centre of galactic civilisation.

Captain Anderson smiled knowingly when he heard the barely-contained murmurs of awe from his colleagues. He'd seen the Citadel more times than he could count; yet he would never forget his first time as the XO on the _SSV Hastings_ over twenty years ago. It was times like this when he realised both how far humanity had come and how far it still had to go. There was a high standard to measure up to.

"Whoa," Ashley exclaimed, running up to the viewport and picking out one of the several exotic ships they had spotted in the last minute alone. "Look at the _size_ of that ship!" It was easily four times bigger than the largest human ship.

"Well size isn't everything," Joker remarked evenly.

Ash considered his words and smirked. "Why so touchy, Lieutenant?"

"Just sayin'; you need firepower too."

Anderson had to shake his head at their immaturity. "That's the _Destiny Ascension_ – flagship of the Citadel fleet. And yes; her main gun could cut through any of our dreadnoughts like a hot knife through butter."

"Sounds like we could do with some upgrades," Shepard interjected. "We're a fly compared to that beast."

"Just as well she's on our side then," Anderson told her. While overseeing the construction of the _Normandy_ on the Citadel, he'd had the privilege of meeting with the _Destiny_ _Ascension_ 's captain, Commander Lidanya – an asari Matriarch no less. She had been very interested in the _Normandy_ 's technologies and had proved to be a useful advisor; Anderson had preferred to deal with an asari rather than a group of turians who had glared at him as though they were envisaging fantasies of trailing him back to his apartment after work and stabbing him in a secluded alleyway.

Though officially contracted by the Council; the _Destiny Ascension_ was an asari dreadnought of tremendous size and power – it was said to have more firepower than the rest of the asari fleet combined. It wasn't, however, as cumbersome as alien-made dreadnoughts since the asari were naturals at efficient designs, aesthetics and functionality. The _Destiny_ _Ascension_ was really the asari's one main naval asset, and she was the Citadel's flagship due to politics – the asari were the 'first race'; the first to discover the Citadel; the first to form a galactic community. Under the Treaty of Farixen, the asari were not the dominant naval power (they were not a belligerent species at all); the turians held that honour. They were entitled to the highest ratio of dreadnoughts; for every five they constructed, the asari and salarians were allowed three while the associate Citadel races were allowed one.

"Take us in to the nearest discharge facility," Anderson ordered. Major deep space facilities such as the Citadel and Arcturus Station had special facilities that allowed visiting ships to discharge their drive cores. FTL drives could manage to run for an average of fifty hours before reaching drive saturation. If the resulting static electrical charge was allowed to build, the core would be forced to discharge into the ship – frying the crew to a crisp, burning out all electronic systems and fusing metal bulkheads together. In short, it wasn't pretty. The safest way to discharge a drive core was to land on a planet and use the ground as a lightning rod. However, larger vessels such as dreadnoughts were incapable of landing and had to discharge their cores into a planetary magnetic field – ideally a gas giant.

Joker opened up a comm channel. "Citadel Control, this is _SSV Normandy_ requesting permission to dock at a discharge facility."

" _Standby,_ Normandy _. Your ship has been flagged by Citadel Security Services. Disengage your engines and proceed to the coordinates on your screen where you will submit to inspection."_

Anderson leaned past Joker and hit the comm. "Are we under arrest?"

" _A Council representative will meet you there."_

"I have the right to consult with Ambassador Udina before meeting with the Council," Anderson groped, unsure of whether it was a real regulation or not. At this stage in the game, it didn't really matter; he was desperate.

" _Your request has been taken under advisement. Proceed to the coordinates on your screen and submit to inspection."_

Joker looked up. "It's not too late; I can bring us about and get the hell outta here. Just say the word."

Anderson shook his head. The thick nebula presented a severe navigation hazard at the best of times, and especially without Citadel Control to guide them. Beyond the clearer areas of the space station; deadly electrical discharges were common. He'd only just got the _Normandy_ back into shape; he didn't want to risk further damage to his new ship. "The traffic out here is heavy; we'd risk causing a collision. Besides, we can't hide forever." He glanced at Shepard. "You'd better put your game face on, Commander; it's time to face the music."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Siar' is the word for the sire species according to the Siari Philosophy (I will explain this in greater detail later on).
> 
> The poem Ashley quotes is the last two verses from Home at Last by Tony Church, a former Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineer. He is published on a website called Arborfield Old Boys Association. I do NOT own the poem - no copyright infringement is intended.


	7. The Hunter and the Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is loosely based on Tali's portion of Mass Effect: Homeworlds. I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't read it (it's not available where I live), and so it's probably more accurate to say that this is based off the synopsis I found on the Mass Effect Wiki – most likely with a lot of tweaks and changes.

 

**Chapter 7**

 

**The Citadel, Serpent Nebula (Widow System)**

Citadel Security Services – simply abbreviated to 'C-Sec' – was a volunteer law enforcement agency answering to the Citadel Council. Tying in with their public service attitudes; it was the turians who had proposed building a police force in the first place. It was hardly surprising that more than half the officers in the service were turian, and that the executor role had been filled by a turian more often than not.

C-Sec was comprised of six different divisions, all with their own responsibilities, yet with a common mandate: to preserve and protect the Citadel's population – from the homeless vagabond scrounging to make ends meet in the wards, to the wealthiest asari entrepreneur on the Presidium. First and foremost these volunteer officers were tasked with preserving public order, curbing pirate activities and enforcing customs regulations. That was barely scratching the surface of what went on behind the scenes: special response officers who were professional at diffusing hostage situations; skilled salarian technicians who fought every brand of cybercrime from identity theft to viral attacks to illegal AI infiltration – to name but a few of the day-to-day miracles. And although it was true that C-Sec functioned exclusively within the Citadel; they did have a naval patrol fleet capable of search and rescue missions inside Citadel Space. Anything pertaining to a matter outside the Citadel's scope, however, fell upon the shoulders of the elite Council Spectres.

The selection process for C-Sec was almost as meticulous as for the Spectres. Applicants had to be personally sponsored by either a Citadel councillor or an ambassador from an associate Council race. Usually candidates had years of military training under their belts; sometimes they had even served in the law enforcement services for their own species.

Like most turians; Garrus Vakarian had had military training since the age of fifteen. And like all good turians, he had put his personal desires to one side and had dutifully followed in his father's footsteps by joining C-Sec. It had been his dream to become a Spectre; he had even been targeted as a possible Spectre candidate back when the Council had been mass recruiting. But his father had firmly forbidden him from accepting.

According to his father, there was a line dividing the two sides of life – the good side and the bad side. C-Sec emulated the law and therefore the good side. Residing on the bad side; the Spectres were just as immoral and depraved as the criminals they hunted. His father had taught him one very important lesson in life: 'Do things right or don't do them at all'. Garrus's father had warned him that his impatience would be his undoing. Spectres were given too much power and weren't held accountable for their actions; they simply picked the most expedient way of solving a problem – with no regard for collateral damage. C-Sec worked under restraints; but the rules served to help them achieve their job of preserving the lives of the civilians they were tasked with protecting. In short; the Spectres had been conceived by what had initially been an honourable notion. But give anyone too much power, and it goes straight to their head. Garrus's father didn't want him to befall the same dire fate.

Garrus had conceded to his father's wisdom, but that wasn't to say that he was content with his career. Everyday felt like a chore. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was destined for better things than dishing out parking tickets to residents on the Presidium or catching amateur thieves in the less civilised wards.

"Look at you," his human partner teased him from the passenger seat while Garrus commandeered a C-Sec patrol skycar.

The X3M was a contragravity speeder suited for transportation in busy urban metropolises and confined space stations. Controlled via a haptic adaptive interface, the skycar's propulsion drive was powered by a small eezo core. Although it was a manoeuvrable vehicle, it required a landing pad of its own.

"Don't crack a smile now," Harkin continued; "I might have a heart attack."

Garrus did his utmost not to roll his eyes; he should have been used to his human partner's bothersome behaviour by now. He was already in a particularly bad mood after his latest performance review from his department leader. Garrus felt wholeheartedly that he had more to give in the service; his talents could be put to better use. Unfortunately his superiors felt that he was getting ahead of himself. Garrus had always been nothing but loyal, hard-working, thorough in his investigations. All he needed was a break in his routine – a summons to a higher purpose. It didn't help that he was stuck with a disreputable human for a partner.

As humanity's first officer in C-Sec, Harkin seemed to get away with a lot. It was hardly a secret that he was guilty of unprofessional conduct including intoxication while on duty and general discourtesy toward colleagues and citizens. Garrus reminded himself that whether or not he liked the man was irrelevant; their superiors had assigned them to work together. Apparently Garrus should have felt honoured to work with an icon for humanity's advancement into the galactic community; instead he felt that Harkin was quite possibly the worst role-model ever. He daren't say as much; in accordance with their non-discrimination policy, C-Sec had made an effort to recruit humans into their ranks.

"Not even a twitch," Harkin remarked, seemingly amused. "Damn, you turians. I'd have better luck getting blood from a stone."

Garrus didn't pretend to understand the human's metaphor. It was an amazing feat of modern technology and scholarship that aliens could even understand one another at all. "We're on-duty, Harkin; this isn't the time for idle chitchat."

"All right, all right. Who stepped on your balls?"

Garrus had done his best to ignore the human, but now he was wavering somewhere between annoyance and curiosity. "What?"

"Turians have balls don't they? On second thought: don't answer that." Harkin pulled a face and drew out a hip flask from his pocket. "I might have to share women with your kind; but at least I don't have to share the whiskey."

Harkin was right; turians were dextro-amino based whereas humans (and most other species) were levo-amino based. The two were incompatible; at worst ingesting food with the wrong protein could prove lethal.

"What are you doing?" Garrus muttered.

"We get off for lunch as soon as you get us back to the precinct. I'm starting early."

Garrus's mandibles flapped but he elected not to voice his criticism. It was sometimes easy to forget that other species couldn't be held accountable to the turian's high standard of honour and civil service. Were he a turian; Harkin would've been punished harshly for his indiscretions. Garrus regretted that he couldn't take matters into his own talons; all he could do was report Harkin to his superiors. The humans, however, had the notion that scandalising someone to their superiors was the equivalent of betrayal. Faced with the choice of losing Harkin's camaraderie (not that they were even friends in the first place) or being stuck with an incompetent colleague; Garrus knew which he preferred.

" _Dispatch, we have a request for C-Sec presence reported in Docking Bay E-7."_

Garrus instinctively glanced at the holographic interface projecting the skycar's progress on the pre-programmed flight path back to C-Sec Academy. It turned out that they were close to the docking bay in question.

"Let Customs handle it," Harkin said quickly, sensing what the turian had in mind.

"We're in the area," Garrus pointed out. He tapped his visor; "This is badge 2817-Delta-014 responding to the dispatch, over."

" _Roger that."_

Harkin sighed heavily and took another swig from his hip flask before tucking it safely away. "I get it; you can turn you talons to most things. I hope it's not me you're trying to impress."

"I'm just trying to do my job, Harkin," Garrus replied evenly, focusing on bringing the shuttle about and navigating the thick afternoon traffic on their way to the docks.

 

* * *

 

**Docking Bay E-7**

The call had originated from a turian freighter, but the crew was a mix of aliens. A burly human male in a soiled white tank top was waiting for Garrus and Harkin with two huddled figures in his custody. There could be no doubt from the enviro-suits, the bowed legs, the three-fingered hands and three-toed feet that the pair were quarians.

The quarians were a nomadic race of humanoid aliens with a reputation for their proficiency with technology. In fact it was their advances in synthetic intelligence that had gotten them into trouble. The quarians had lost their embassy on the Citadel shortly after the Council had learned about their law violations over artificial intelligence. The quarians had been responsible for the creation of the geth. The original purpose of the geth had been to serve as a non-sapient slave labour force; 'geth' actually meant 'servant of the people' in Khelish (the dominant quarian language). However, in making the geth capable of learning and self-improving in an effort to minimise maintenance; the quarians had unintentionally given rise to a new intelligence. The geth had come to question their existence and their purpose, sparking panic among their quarian creators. A conflict had broken out in an attempt to subdue the new intelligence – a conflict the quarians had lost.

Ever since then, the quarians had been on the run; drifting from system to system in search of supplies and, ultimately, a new world to settle (even though they hadn't completely abandoned hope of one day reclaiming their homeworld).

Home to approximately seventeen million quarians, the Migrant Fleet was literally a large assortment of space vehicles ranging from second-hand vessels to salvaged wrecks – all held together with recycled and repaired technology. While technically still under martial law, the Migrant Fleet was governed by an Admiralty Board and a democratically-elected Conclave. The quarians prized communal cooperation due to their dependence on one another to survive. It was this united common goal that had thus far preserved the quarians in their exile.

A couple of centuries living in sterile environments had wreaked havoc with the quarians' immune systems; as such, they were compelled to wear enviro-suits in order to avoid disease or infection from an injury. Because the quarians spent more time in their suits than out; they had adorned their suits with personal touches such as shawls and decorative belts. It was also a useful way of identifying individuals, or they all would've looked the same. The quarians had adopted a habit of introducing themselves by name before every conversation, to avoid a mix-up of personas.

"I'm Officer Vakarian," Garrus introduced himself. "This is my partner, Officer Harkin. How may we be of assistance?"

"We found these two stowaways onboard our ship," the human shipmate pointed his thumb. "My guess is they were trying to raid our stores."

"What?" a female quarian blurted. She was discernible from the shawl over her helmet whereas the other – a male – had one draped over his shoulder and waist. "We are _not_ thieves! We were trying to escape from a turian hit-squad on Illium – they killed our crew. We were just trying to get to safety -"

Harkin snorted. "Lady, I haven't killed off nearly enough brain cells to make that sound like a good story. Pfff. Why would a hit-squad waste bullets on you if this guy won't?"

Garrus sighed. He wasn't going to earn a promotion by skipping lunch and writing up quarian vagrants.

"Give 'em a break," a large reptilian biped chuckled, emerging from the freighter's cargo hold. "They weren't doing anything when we found them."

Garrus was thought to be tall by his human colleague, but even he was dwarfed by the krogan who seemed to leer at them from seven feet tall.

Harkin narrowed his eyes. "Wrex."

The name jogged Garrus's memory because it was flagged in C-Sec's database. While he had never dealt with this particular krogan personally; he remembered reading reports. Wrex was a krogan battlemaster – one of the few biotics in his species. Native to the harsh, inhospitable planet Tuchanka; the krogan had developed a surgical procedure that was able to confer biotic ability, with the catch being that the mortality rate was high. The few who survived became obscenely powerful and rose quickly through the military ranks; non-biotic soldiers were in fear and awe of them, and so their superiors would promote them in recognition of the respect they would command. These rare battlemasters were honoured as great leaders in krogan society. However, like the majority of his species; Wrex had left his homeworld behind and had turned his talents to mercenary work.

Krogan mercenaries were as common as they were dreaded. Garrus thought that the krogan simply had an insatiable lust for uninhibited violence, but Wrex was somewhat of an outlier. The fact that he'd developed a pattern of targeting criminals instead of innocent civilians would suggest that he was morally enlightened (and the notion of a krogan with morals was laughable). Still, he wasn't qualified to do C-Sec's job. Garrus didn't know whether there was such a thing as a 'good criminal', but no one in C-Sec had been able to arrest the krogan – either because they couldn't seem to make their charges against him stick, or because Wrex really was more benevolent than he was a nuisance.

"Don't tell me this little welcoming committee was for my benefit," Wrex grinned, showing off rows of sharp, crusty teeth.

Harkin took a step back; apparently he didn't buy into the friendly giant routine when the krogan was quite obviously a hardened predator. "We're just here for the quarians this time."

Wrex folded his arms over his chest plate. "That almost hurts my feelings. No trip to the Citadel is complete without a C-Sec interrogation."

"Keep talking like that, and you won't be disappointed," Garrus found himself leaping to the aid of his partner.

The krogan mercenary turned his piercing gaze to him and Garrus was determined to hold his ground. The turians and the krogan had been enemies long before humanity had shown up on the scene. His honour was at stake here.

"I wouldn't want to waste your time and mine, Officer," Wrex replied evenly. Garrus couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or sincere. In any case, it seemed that Harkin was empowered to have an ally at his side.

"Stay out of trouble, Wrex," Harkin warned the krogan, finding a sudden surge of bravado (most likely from the alcohol he had consumed). "We'll be keeping an eye on you."

To his credit, Wrex didn't mock the human with a derisive chuckle. He only looked Harkin up and down and gave a jerk of his head. "I'm just here for companionship this time," he answered seriously. "They just don't make asari like the ones in Chora's Den."

Garrus was familiar with the strip joint. The establishment was currently owned by a human, but most of the employees were asari. Lacking the cultural taboos about nudity and sex; the asari were easily recruited into such careers. While the asari themselves weren't inherently violent; there were a lot of calls from Chora's Den, usually involving brawls between aliens fighting over an asari prostitute.

"I'll drink to that," Harkin conceded. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The krogan mercenary bade farewell to his temporary shipmates and sauntered off towards the elevator. Garrus was surprised; he'd never met a krogan that hadn't tried to provoke C-Sec into a long, bloody fight to the death. But before he could give the phenomenon further thought, Harkin was back to his usual charming self now that the intimidating krogan was out of the way.

"Where were we?" Harkin scratched his head. "Oh yeah... Write 'em up, Garrus; bring 'em in."

Garrus stepped up to the two quarians and opened up the interface on his omni-tool. "Names?"

The female quarian folded her arms indignantly. "I'm Tali'Zorah nar Rayya – daughter of Admiral Rael'Zorah vas -"

Harkin chuckled. "Damn. You aliens and your names. Sure sounds fancy, but it don't mean squat to me. Scan 'em, Garrus; check for contraband."

Garrus's mandibles twitched but he nevertheless held his tongue. "Excuse me, miss; it's just a routine procedure." He passed the orange hologram around his wrist up and down the length of her body. "Clear." He turned to the quarian male. "You, sir?"

"Keenah'Breizh," the male quarian stood obediently still with his arms spread wide. "I was assigned by Admiral Zorah to help his daughter on her Pilgrimage. I was escorting her on the scout ship _Honorata_ , but both the ship and crew were lost on Illium."

Garrus nodded, only vaguely listening to his story while he studied the readouts of the scan. The quarians had peculiar accents. "You can say your piece to the DCI. For now I need you to hand over your omni-tools and personal belongings. They'll be returned to you as soon as you're cleared for release."

"When will that be?" Tali huffed.

"When the DCI says so," Harkin sneered. "And what's this?" He reached both hands to the female quarian's waist and plucked something from her belt.

"Bosh'tet," Tali cursed. "That's a filtration canister – we need it to breathe!"

"Give it back, Harkin," Garrus agreed. C-Sec wasn't in the habit of torturing their prisoners.

"Feisty, aren't you, Princess?"

" _Don't_ call me that," Tali countered.

Harkin cackled, delighted by her defiance.

"Harkin," Garrus rebuked him. "Load them up in the car and I'll fly us back to the precinct."

"Who died and made you god?" Harkin waved his hand. "Jeez, you need to lighten up. Maybe a trip to Chora's Den will do us both some good."

Garrus seethed in silence. So it was okay for the human to order him about, but Garrus wasn't allowed to direct him in return? "Just get in the car. We'll talk about this later."

"No we won't," Harkin followed as Garrus led their quarian cargo to the skycar. "Later, I'm gonna have my face shoved between a pair of asari tits. Then I won't have to put up with all your turian prudishness."

Garrus didn't dignify him with a response. He couldn't. It was highly inappropriate to let convicts witness C-Sec officers being unprofessional; it set a bad example. He comforted himself with the plan of spending his off-duty hours writing a detailed letter of complaint about Harkin which he would then submit to his superior the next day. The human wouldn't be so smug then.

 

* * *

 

**C-Sec Academy**

Several officers from various species milled around in the foyer. While turians dominated the C-Sec ranks; there were also numerous salarians and asari, as well as a smattering of non-Council races including the odd human. The only thing that united the officers from their physical differences was their shared blue and black uniform. C-Sec uniform came in various shapes and sizes to fit everyone – from turian carapaces to human torsos.

Harkin gave the two quarians a shove forward. "Keep moving, convicts."

"It's not necessary to man-handle them, Harkin," Garrus pointed out. There must've been two dozen officers in the lobby alone (including armed guards); the quarians had no hope of escaping custody. Besides, other than being quarian; they hadn't committed a serious crime like drug-trafficking or murder. Still, as quarians, they were guilty until proven innocent. The rest of the galactic community harboured intense distrust of the quarians thanks to the geth. They were outlaws and no Citadel citizen was about to welcome them with open arms.

No one took much notice of two C-Sec officers escorting two quarians through the precinct; apparently it wasn't an uncommon occurrence. A high percentage of crime down in the wards was due to quarian immigrants; their slight builds made them expert at stealthy thievery, and their technical expertise had forced many banking emporiums to upgrade their security systems.

Garrus led the way up the staircase to the DCI's office and signalled for Harkin to secure their prisoners while he obtained instructions on what to do with them.

Detective Chief Inspector Chellick (a turian) maintained an open-door policy to his office. But before Garrus could declare his arrival, he hung back when he realised that his superior was busy speaking with a non-uniformed asari.

"I assure you; we're taking this very seriously," Chellick was saying; "When one of you guys step out of line; it's C-Sec's job to police you."

Garrus observed in silence from his vantage point. The asari folded her arms and Garrus spotted the distinct insignia on her shoulder pads – she was a Spectre. Spectres were usually only on the Citadel when they were taking leave (all Spectres were granted a complimentary accommodation on the station as part of their benefits package), or when the Council had summoned them to appear before them in person – either to receive sensitive information that warranted a report in person rather than via technological communication, or to assign the Spectre with an important task. Perhaps his day wasn't doomed to be so uninteresting after all.

"Right," the asari replied nonchalantly. "It's C-Sec's job to do the homework and it'll be a Spectre's job to go out and apprehend the perp."

Garrus took the plunge and knocked on the door; he was eager to join in. "Er, sir?"

Chellick turned his gaze past the Spectre. "Vakarian," he sighed heavily; "what is it?"

Garrus stepped across the threshold into the office and stepped up beside the asari Spectre. "Harkin and I just picked up two quarians."

"So put 'em in a cell," the Spectre shrugged. "Do you really need your boss to tell you that?"

Garrus felt disheartened that he had failed to gain the Spectre's approval. Then again, there was hardly anything impressive with apprehending quarian vagrants. The asari was right; he should take the initiative rather than having to wait for permission.

Chellick cleared his throat. "Thank you, Vasir; I know how to handle my people. The Spectres could learn a few things from us."

The asari Spectre, Vasir, smiled thinly. "Just keep me in the loop, Chellick."

The air was thick with unspoken hostility, but apparently Garrus's superior wasn't bold enough to directly challenge the Spectre.

"Maybe you should take it up with the Executor."

Vasir's omni-tool beeped. "I'd love to, but I've gotta go meet and greet these humans when they dock."

"Remember to smile, and you'll do fine."

Vasir lingered long enough to shoot him a glare before brushing past Garrus without so much as acknowledging him. She wheeled into the corridor and drew up just short of bumping into the two quarian detainees. "Out of my way, suit rats," she hissed.

Keenah grabbed Tali's arm and pulled her aside, thankful that the asari didn't look back when Tali muttered a Khelish curse at her.

Chellick let out a low growl once the Spectre had left. "I hope the door hits her on her way out."

"What's going on, sir?" Garrus inquired.

"The ambassador for humanity has come forth with some rather serious accusations against Spectre Saren Arterius."

Garrus blinked; every turian knew that name. Saren had famously risen through the ranks like no other turian before (or after) him; he had been promoted to active military duty after only one year of training. Then he had gone on to become the youngest turian ever to be granted Spectre status. As the most decorated Spectre in history, he was best known for stamping out criminal enterprises in the Skyllian Verge; but he was famous all across the Milky Way – from the Attican Traverse to the Terminus Systems.

Every fifteen-year-old turian wanted to grow up to be just like Saren. Garrus had been among them, until his father had taught him otherwise. Saren didn't embody the turian ideal at all; he was reckless, selfish, and his every action was self-serving. Any respectable turian should despise him. In fact Garrus's father had gone as far as to hold Saren up as the reason for why he shouldn't join the Spectres. He hadn't wanted his son to become corrupted by power and unaccountability as Saren had been.

Garrus diverted his thoughts to the DCI's statement. Humanity had only been granted an embassy on the Citadel in 2165, but they hadn't wasted any time making their presence known to the rest of the galactic community. Their primary mission objective had been expansion. Certain groups, like the batarians, had thought of humanity as a plague spreading across the galaxy. Frankly, their opinion wasn't entirely unfounded.

Shortly after the devastating Rachni Wars (unfortunately the galaxy had a rather bloody history); the Citadel Council had introduced new regulations forbidding the activation of dormant mass relays for fear of what hostile forces could potentially be allowed in. The Human Systems Alliance had obviously been unaware of this law. Part of their expansion effort had included activating every mass relay they could find in order to seek out new areas to colonise. A turian patrol had come across the ignorant humans attempting to violate Council law and had acted accordingly.

The Citadel races called it the 'Relay 314 Incident'. However, the humans had viewed the three-month-long conflict much differently. It had been their 'First Contact War' – their first encounter with an alien species – and a conflict that would forever change their history and bias their beliefs.

Unlike some of his turian colleagues; Garrus didn't judge humanity for their actions in the Relay 314 Incident. What he didn't understand was that so many people were keen to condemn others for being naive when the three Council races had once been guilty of the very same flaw. Humanity didn't deserve to be punished; rather, they deserved to be better educated so that they would avoid making the same mistakes in the future.

Garrus had been on the Citadel long enough to know that whatever humanity was involved in; it would most likely spark upheaval. And where there was Saren Arterius; there was ruthless efficiency. If the two had come to blows; it couldn't be good.

As though he possessed the asari ability of telepathy, DCI Chellick continued; "Needless to say, the Executor is having a field day. But it also means that I get Spectres like Vasir running into my office trying to cover their backs. They're all keen to dish the dirt on one another if it means saving their own skin."

Garrus was unreservedly surprised that his superior had confided this information in him. It was no secret that C-Sec's executor had a personal hatred of the entire Spectre body – its principles, its methods, _and_ its operatives – but it was unlike a high-ranking officer like Chellick to gripe.

"We've opened an investigation as of a few hours ago," Chellick informed him. "It just so happens that the Executor has kept a detailed record of all Saren's misdemeanours. For him, humanity's information just sharpens the tip of the spear."

Garrus considered his words. "Are you saying that Saren could be relieved of Spectre duty?"

"If the Executor has his way; he'll suffer much worse than that, Vakarian." Chellick paused. "I don't know how this thing's going to play out. Coming from humanity, it might not stand up at all. The Council isn't very happy right now; humanity's been known to throw tantrums before, and the Executor has been at odds with the Council since before I joined the force."

Garrus saw his window of opportunity. Perhaps he could finally get to see why his father thought that Saren and Spectres were so contemptible. "I'd like to volunteer myself to aid the investigation, sir," he declared proudly.

Chellick had expected as much. Out of all the officers serving under him; Garrus had an uncanny habit of signing himself up to more investigations than he could manage (every organic species had to eat and sleep at one time or another). While Chellick knew that Garrus was eager with the best of intentions; he also knew that his overzealousness was often his undoing. "Request denied."

"But, sir -"

The DCI's mandibles clicked with annoyance at Garrus's insubordination. "Your record isn't spotless, Vakarian, and the Executor would just love a reason to suspend you. Don't give him that reason. You're a damn fine officer when you want to be. Now, bring in these quarians you mentioned."

"Yes, sir," Garrus sauntered to the doorway and motioned for the two quarians to come inside.

"Let me do the talking," Keenah told his companion.

Having overheard the DCI reminding Garrus of his place, Harkin grinned. Garrus shot him a warning look and directed him to stand guard outside.

Scrutinising the quarians' every move as they trudged into his office, Chellick pointed at the name plaque on his desk and hoped that they could read the universal Citadel trade language. Since the Migrant Fleet's first priority was survival, he couldn't be sure how well-educated their citizens were. "I'm a busy man and I don't appreciate my time being wasted. Let's keep this short."

Tali stepped forward. "We need to see the Council right away."

Keenah reached his hand up to cover the mortification he felt behind his opaque visor.

As expected, Chellick's mandibles flared with barely-suppressed amusement. "Really? And why is that?"

Tali stood a little taller. "We have information about an attack on Eden Prime," she announced. "If you'd just give us back our omni-tools..."

Chellick glanced briefly at Garrus before returning his sceptical gaze to the young quarian female. "Of course, this is some kind of joke. Obviously you overheard our conversation about humans; I warned you not to waste my time. Vakarian -"

"But it's true!" Tali exclaimed. She didn't even know what humans had to do with Eden Prime. "I'm not making this up."

" _Vakarian_ ," Chellick repeated, firmly this time. "Get these people out of my office, _please_."

"Yes, sir."

"Wait!" Tali dodged Garrus's grasp and let him take Keenah instead. "Just hear us out – that's all I'm asking. Please. We're not criminals; we're victims."

"That's what they all say," Harkin snickered.

"We came to the Citadel hoping we could get help," Tali appealed.

"Obviously we were misguided," Keenah muttered, glancing up at his turian captor.

Chellick sighed heavily; no honourable turian could ignore a plea for help and expect his conscience to be clean when he attempted to sleep at night. "All right. You've got two minutes."

Keenah pulled himself free of Garrus's talons and stepped up beside Tali. "Thank you, sir. You see, it's like this; there are stories around the Migrant Fleet that Illium is a good place for trade. We figured that Tali could find something worthwhile there to bring back to the Flotilla to complete her Pilgrimage -"

"None of that matters anymore," Tali cut across him. "The point is: on the way there we detected geth presence on an ice planet in the Crescent Nebula. We landed, disabled one of the geth and extracted its memory core. We were planning to alert the authorities on Illium, but they wouldn't let us dock."

"I can't imagine why," Harkin sniped.

"Anyway," Tali continued, ignoring him out of spite. "When we finally got there; we were ambushed by a turian hit-squad."

"They murdered my crew," Keenah added grimly. "We fled for our very lives – so we hid on that freighter as stowaways. It was only as a last resort; hijacking starships is punishable by death among the Flotilla. But we committed no crime aboard the ship; we wished only to hide for our safety and seek help here."

Chellick clasped his talons together and surveyed them both with mild criticism. "That's certainly an imaginative story."

"You don't believe us?" Tali blurted.

"I'll give you points for entertaining me. I hear that storytelling is a very important form of leisure in your culture. Firstly, the geth destroy their memory cores when they're disabled to prevent tampering. Your alleged salvage of an intact one is impossible."

Tali bristled. Her people had created the geth and she most certainly didn't appreciate a foreigner claiming to have superior knowledge than her people.

Keenah sensed that Tali was about to launch head-first into an argument that was likely to spoil their position with the law. "It _is_ true, sir," he tried to handle this diplomatically. "Granted it is very difficult; but if you're quick and careful – as we were – then it is possible. Most of the core's data was unsalvageable, but we did manage to save some."

Chellick heard his words but elected to ignore them. "Secondly, the only quarians I've had passing through my office are beggars, liars and thieves. Consider yourselves lucky that the ship's owner has decided not to press charges. I'm issuing you a formal warning; next time I won't be so lenient. As it is; I see no reason to detain you further. I suggest you leave the station before you run into more trouble." Chellick sat back in his chair, considering the case closed. "Harkin, show them the way out."

The human was disappointed that he wouldn't get to taunt the quarians further. "Yes, sir." He did, however, prod Tali's back and chuckled when she turned and slapped his hand away. Keenah, on the other hand, was much more subservient and didn't utter a word of protest when Harkin nudged him instead.

"Good catch, Vakarian," Chellick congratulated him sarcastically. "I trust you'll take care of the paperwork too."

Garrus's shoulders slumped; he really wasn't having any luck today. "Yes, sir." Had he been a Spectre, he wouldn't have needed to follow procedure and could've dealt with the situation on his own – sparing everyone's time in the process. He turned for the door and paused when something crucial occurred to him. "Sir, isn't Eden Prime a human colony?"

"Everyone knows that, Vakarian. It was their first major colony outside their homeworld. The quarians were just hoping to grab our attention – they're conniving and devious like that."

"Yes, sir; if you say so." Garrus exited the office and didn't look back.

 

* * *

 

Tali was growing increasingly impatient. Her first experience of the Citadel hadn't exactly been as enjoyable as she'd hoped. First she'd been accused of thievery and had been treated like a criminal. To top it off; she'd been called a 'suit rat' (something she took personal offence to). She cursed her own immature naiveté for ever having been excited to bump shoulders with the galaxy's elite on the famous, fortified Citadel.

On the Flotilla, quarians too young to remember the days when their people had been a member race of the Citadel would tell thrilling stories about a magnificent space station; a gathering place where different species from all corners of the galaxy convened and shared their cultures. Life could become stagnant on the Flotilla very quickly, and so it was customary – perhaps even a necessity – to exchange stories and experiences.

The Migrant Fleet travelled all over the galaxy, never staying in one place for long (the locals usually shunned them and were eager to see them on their way). As a kind of initiation into adulthood, adolescent quarians were expected to undertake a Pilgrimage. This rite of passage was a journey outside the Flotilla and gave quarians experience of other cultures as well as teaching them to appreciate life among their own people. When a quarian returned from a successful Pilgrimage, he or she was expected to be a fully-functioning member of the quarian society – able to take on responsibilities and make valuable contributions. Every young quarian looked forward to their Pilgrimage as a chance to escape the confines of the Flotilla. Tali had taken the quickest and easiest route to completing her Pilgrimage by making a beeline for Illium, a paradise for commerce and culture. Her shortcut had landed her in trouble, and now she had a feeling that she had plenty of adventure in store before she could return to her people.

The human C-Sec officer, Harkin, was clearing them for release and returning their belongings. Tali and Keenah had fled Illium in a hurry and had left all their supplies behind; the only items on their person had been their omni-tools.

Omni-tools were like a wrist watch. Attached to a strap was a small unit housing a sophisticated computer chip and all the inner-workings of the device. Pressing the small face would activate the holographic interface that resembled something like a luminescent orange gauntlet around the forearm.

"I'm not sure whether I should give these back to you," Harkin remarked lightly. "You might be planning something...illegal with all your technical wizardry." He noted that the quarians' omni-tools were obsolete models. "Then again, this junk won't fetch me anything worthwhile."

"Give me that!" Tali tried to snatch her possession back, but the human teasingly held it out of her reach. "It's mine! Just because you're C-Sec doesn't give you the right to keep our things. That's called stealing."

Harkin raised an eyebrow. "Hey, now. There's no need to throw about serious accusations like that."

Tali was rapidly reaching the end of her tether. "Give it back; it's got a message on it from my father."

"Ooh. Daddy's girl, hey?"

Tali glowered at him from behind her helmet. "All you people take your fancy toys for granted. My omni-tool might be worthless scrap to you; but to me it's priceless."

"Is that so, Princess?" Harkin leaned forward on the counter and dangled the omni-tool in front of her, like a pendulum. "I like 'em with attitude. You know, er, my apartment's not far from the precinct. Maybe you and I could work out this tension between us."

It took Tali a few moments to catch his drift. When she did, she was appalled. "Keenah, are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Keenah glanced from Tali to the human and back again. "Er...what?"

Tali made a noise like a growl and finally managed to reclaim her omni-tool. "Come on; we're getting out of here."

"Your loss, Princess," Harkin called after them.

Keenah had to break into a jog to catch up with his companion. "It could've been worse," he pointed out. "At least we're not in prison."

"I get the feeling we'd be better off in prison," Tali muttered quietly, stopping in her tracks to measure the level of activity in the lobby. People seemed to take notice of the quarians now that they didn't have a C-Sec escort. "Everyone's staring at us," she lowered her voice to a whisper.

"That's because we don't belong here," Keenah whispered back. "Let's get out of here."

"How? We've got no ship and all our supplies were on the _Honorata_."

Keenah shrugged. "Maybe we could offer ourselves for manual labour in exchange for credits?"

Behind her visor, Tali frowned. "There's got to be an easier way. We have to see the Council."

"The people here didn't even want to put us up in prison; how are we supposed to get in to meet the Council?"

"I'm making this up as I go," Tali admitted, putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that the rest would come to her. "Don't worry; I'll figure something out." She crossed the lobby hurriedly and stepped into the elevator. "Take us to the Council," she ordered (for convenience, most modern technology had a virtual intelligence to interact with).

Standing outside the elevator chute, Keenah shook his head. "This is crazy; _you're_ crazy."

"Come on," Tali quickly plucked him inside before the doors could close.

 

* * *

 

**The Presidium**

The ten-kilometre-long central ring connecting the Citadel's five ward arms together was known as the Presidium. This was the political heart of the galaxy and home to Citadel space's most elite citizens; from affluent bankers to corporate executives.

As advertised by the Citadel Tourism Board, the Presidium was an amalgamation between functional technology and sumptuous comfort. Unlike the greying bulkheads and neon signs in the wards; the Presidium resembled something of a lush parkland, complete with a large freshwater lake that acted as an independent reservoir for the most privileged residents, and simulated environmental conditions such as artificial sunlight and gentle breezes.

There were twenty hours in a galactic standard day (each hour was longer than a Terran one). The Citadel had a six hour night cycle whereby businesses on the Presidium would wind down and the simulated sky would darken. The length of the night was actually a compromise between the asari and the salarians (the first two Council species); the asari required a lot more sleep than most species whereas the salarians only needed an hour.

Perhaps had she been there by choice, and had she felt welcome to spend time there, Tali would've looked around at her extravagant surroundings and marvelled. Perhaps she would have stepped carefully across the manicured squares of plush grass rather than stamping like a child having a tantrum; perhaps she would have gazed up at the magnificent structures, the towering beams, the glistening water features, the elaborate sculptures, the vibrant plants; and thought them all wonderful and rare rather than glaring at everything she passed as though all the objects had done her some terrible personal offence. Perhaps she would even have counted herself lucky to be able to spend time in these rich, lavish surroundings and enjoy living in wealth and luxury.

But the truth was, she looked at it all from behind the veil of her helmet visor and despised every polished white slab, every blade of grass, every drop of purified water, every fluffy white cloud in the 'sky'. As far as she was concerned, the setting was fake – merely an imitation. Granted, there were simulated environments on the Flotilla just like this. But something about the Presidium reeked of an underlying debauchery. Of course, the Council was stuck-up and more like a group of despots rather than the benevolent caretakers most people were brainwashed into thinking.

Tali wondered how the Council could sleep at night. It had been all-too-easy for them to banish the quarians to suffer their lot; as long as nothing touched the councillors here on their precious, safe Citadel; they just didn't care. Tali could at least take satisfaction in the knowledge that her people had survived without the Council's help. Everyone had written the quarians off as foolish instigators of their own demise. And, yet, the quarians had proved them all wrong. Whether or not the Council liked it; the quarians were stubborn enough to stick around. They weren't about to disappear out of sight and out of mind, just to soothe the Council's conscience.

Beside her, Keenah was much more taken in by the show than she was. "Keelah," he kept exclaiming in Khelish. "It's...incredible."

"It's one big lie is what it is," Tali corrected him. She couldn't, however, deny the appeal of all the opulence. The quarians had tried to replicate the beauty of their natural environment, but had failed to produce anything that could rival the luxury here. She wondered bitterly how much money the Council had poured into the furnishings. It was nice for them if that was the biggest issue in their lives. Still, the Council had turned its back on the quarians and they had all survived just fine without the Citadel.

Tali passed by several citizens with their purses easily-accessible. But despite what the turian detective had claimed, Tali was no thief; she had been taught better. Quarians depended on each other for survival; they had a strong sense of community and placed a great deal of faith in qualities like trust, loyalty and cooperation. Thievery was non-existent on the Flotilla; everyone's predicament and possessions were shared, so they would only have been short-changing themselves.

Forced to adapt in order to survive, the quarians had learned many talents. Tali didn't need to resort to petty thievery; she had other gifts at her disposal. All young quarians were given training to help them survive their Pilgrimage; Tali knew her way around the working parts of a shotgun, as well as having a natural grasp of technology and engineering.

She knew how to hotwire a ship, not that she would ever think about stealing one (it was a heinous crime in quarian society). But something else on the Presidium caught her eye.

"Look at the VI in the form of a holographic asari." Tali scoffed. "They think they're so superior and beautiful."

A VI was an advanced form of user interface software designed to simulate natural conversation by having an audio interface and an avatar personality to interact with. The blue hologram being projected on the pedestal before them was indeed in the size and shape of an asari.

" _Hello and welcome to the Citadel,"_ the VI automatically responded to their proximity. _"My name is Avina and I am happy to be your virtual guide throughout all levels of the station."_

"VIs don't have emotions," Tali commented dryly. VIs were not self-aware; they couldn't take independent action, nor were they capable of learning.

" _I'm sorry; if you have an issue with my programming, please contact the Citadel Tourism Board."_

Tali let out an impatient huff. "Just tell us where we are."

" _You are currently on the Presidium. Popular locations include the Embassies; Sha'ira the Consort; the Relay Monument; the Emporium; and finally the Citadel Tower."_

"How do we find the Council?"

" _The Council convenes in the Council Chambers, at the top of the Citadel Tower. In order to attain an audience; a citizen must first make a formal appeal through the ambassador of the citizen's respective race. There is a waiting period of up to seven galactic standard months -"_

"Bosh'tets," Tali growled.

" _I'm sorry, please rephrase the query."_

Tali activated her omni-tool.

"What are you doing?" Keenah asked urgently.

"Hacking into the VI's database," Tali answered matter-of-factly.

Keenah stole nervous glances at the immediate surrounding area. They were already attracting unwanted attention for being out of place; they were much more likely to get caught committing a transgression. "This isn't a good idea."

"Have you got a better one?" Tali was satisfied by his silence. "I didn't think so. We're doing the Council a favour they don't even deserve."

"Can't we stop and think about this? Even if you manage to give the information to the Council; do you really think they'll give us a ship to reward us?"

"It beats standing here while everyone shoots us dirty looks," Tali asserted. "They must think we're blind being in these suits. Shows what they know."

"We shouldn't be getting involved in Citadel politics," Keenah reminded her. "We don't belong here."

"Shut up, Keenah; we have as much right as anyone to be here."

"I beg to differ," came a gruff voice from behind.

Tali made a start when she felt a firm grip on her shoulder. Admitting defeat, she turned around to face the turian C-Sec officer. "Excuse me?"

"You're making the residents nervous," the turian answered evenly. He had a deep slash across his taut face and lacked any visible tattoos marking his home colony that Tali had seen on most other turians. "Come with me."

"We were just leaving," Keenah tried to appeal to him.

"Yes you are; you're coming with _me_."

"I don't think so," Tali started. She broke off abruptly when she realised that she recognised the turian. He wasn't a C-Sec officer at all... " _You_."

The familiar turian moved a hand to his hip, making an obvious gesture to the fact that he was armed and they weren't. "Let's find somewhere a little more private."

Tali realised that being out in the open was their saving grace. "You won't use your weapon on the Presidium," she said pointedly. "We're not going anywhere with you."

"I'm giving you a chance to save yourselves," the turian assassin assured them. "Cooperate and I'll spare your lives. All I want is the information on your omni-tool."

"What's so important about the information stored on my omni-tool?" Tali challenged him.

"You're getting involved in something way over your head," the turian warned her. "You don't want that."

"Would this something have anything to do with Eden Prime?"

"Shut up, Tali," Keenah muttered.

"You should listen to your friend," the assassin agreed. "You're far away from home and right now you're completely at my mercy."

"I'll scream," Tali threatened.

"You really think people around here care about two little suit rats like you?" The turian laughed darkly, his mandibles clicking in amusement. " _Don't_ try my patience."

Tali held his gaze, emboldened that he couldn't see her eyes and the raw fear she felt. She racked her brains for another option – anything. "Start walking," she ordered her companion.

"You can run all you like," the turian reminded them; "but you can't hide. I _will_ find you."

The quarians didn't need to be told twice. Tali gave Keenah a shove and the pair broke into a jog as they tried to put as much distance between themselves and their pursuer without attracting the suspicion of passersby.

"Keelah," Keenah exclaimed. "How did he follow us here?"

"Don't you get it?" Tali sounded breathless. She didn't dare spare a glance over her shoulder. "This information _must_ be important. We have to show it to someone – anyone – who will listen."

"No, Tali; we have to get out of here _alive_." Keenah did well to grab her arm as they were in motion. "Let's swap omni-tools and split up. If it's the information he's after; I'll lead him away while you get to safety."

"That isn't a plan, Keenah; that's suicide. I'm _not_ leaving you."

"Tali," Keenah tugged her into the doorway of a merchant's emporium and spun her round so that he could seize her shoulders and look at her. "I promised your father that I would protect you with my life."

Even beyond the visor that was guarding her facial expression, Tali couldn't bear to hold his gaze. She resented the fact that her father had anything to do with her Pilgrimage; most other quarians didn't have admirals to arrange the security and comfort of a ship to ferry them across the galaxy. She hated the fact that an entire crew might have sacrificed themselves to save her, all because she was the daughter of an admiral. It wasn't fair; why should she have special treatment? She didn't want the blood on her hands; she would rather have died side-by-side with her crew. But she was still alive, and she recognised the importance of her survival. "Our crewmates _died_ because of this information, Keenah; we have to make their deaths mean something."

"My crew knew the risk when we agreed to give you passage. Throwing your life away isn't an option; if you die, their deaths would have been for nothing."

Tali clenched her fists in a silent fume. Their deaths added pressure for her to do something important with her life. She was almost certain that something important was stored on her omni-tool; if only she could deliver it into the right hands... "As an admiral's daughter, I'm _ordering_ us to get this information to the Council."

Keenah shook his head; "We both know it doesn't work like that. You heard that hologram; how are we supposed to survive for seven months? That turian assassin is out here on the Presidium right now, waiting for us to make a wrong move." He opened his hand. "I'm taking your omni-tool."

Tali started to resist. "Keenah -"

"By Admiral Zorah's orders, I'm to ensure your safety." He seized her wrist and unhooked her omni-tool. "Take mine if it will help you. Now, let's split up."

 

* * *

 

Commander Jacobus had been sent by Saren to lead an expedition on an ice planet in the Crescent Nebula in search of purported Prothean relics. When one of his geth had gone missing, Jacobus had caught the tail-end of a group of quarians in a small scout ship. He'd tracked them to the planet Illium in a neighbouring system. Evidently the quarians had obtained incriminating evidence they shouldn't have, and were likely turning it over to claim a reward.

Jacobus had made it his personal mission to eliminate the threat to Saren's security. He didn't want to imagine his fate if he failed Saren; he'd already heard from Shiala what had happened to Nihlus when he had foolishly attempted to deny Saren's offer.

Somehow two quarians had survived his assault on their scout ship and had sought refuge on a freighter bound for the Citadel. The good news was that the quarians had backed themselves into a corner, making it simple for Jacobus to follow them. The bad news was that he'd been forced to board the Citadel alone; he would've been arrested on-site had he arrived with a contingent of artificial intelligences as backup. Improvising wasn't a talent the turians were known for; the Hierarchy had a clear-cut, strict set of rules. But Jacobus was an outlaw; he'd officially been expelled from the Hierarchy and had gone his own way, hiring himself out as a mercenary. He'd picked up a few tricks of the trade along the way, and so upon his arrival on the Citadel it had been a relatively simple matter to slip into a C-Sec locker unnoticed and don a uniform so that he could move around the station freely – not to mention carry a weapon without attracting suspicion.

Unlike Nihlus Kryik, Jacobus didn't have a past history with Saren. When it came down to it, Commander Jacobus was shallow; he was only in it for the money, and the fact was that the turian Spectre had offered him a generous amount of credits for his skills – funds he had undoubtedly procured from his asari accomplice, the Matriarch. He was paid enough to not ask questions; he simply carried out Saren's bidding. If he happened to fail, he ought not to bother returning to the Spectre's ship; he had no doubt that Saren wouldn't hesitate to silence him once and for all.

Unfortunately for him, the quarians had proved to be resourceful. They'd gone from being easy prey to an annoyance – they were like vermin, ever persistent in their survival despite all efforts to purge them.

Jacobus's omni-tool was programmed with a unique algorithm to detect geth signatures. When the quarians had salvaged data from the geth's memory core, they had inadvertently tagged themselves with a geth carrier frequency that was now stored in one of the quarian's omni-tools. Therefore Jacobus wasn't too worried about letting them wander; they really couldn't escape from him. Being thorough meant that he should really kill both quarians; but, again, it wasn't the end of the galaxy if the other escaped. Xenophobia and general mistrust of the quarian race would render the survivor's claims utterly worthless. All he had to do was get the data, or make sure that it was destroyed.

 

* * *

 

Tali'Zorah had no intention of carrying out Keenah'Breizh's wishes (come to think of it; she'd never been particularly good at obeying orders). She would rather hire herself for manual labour than leave him behind while she saved her own skin. Most quarians had a fierce sense of loyalty to their shipmates; Tali hadn't technically been a full-standing member of Keenah's crew, but the principle she had been raised by was the same. She also felt responsible for this entire situation; it was because of her that her father had enlisted Keenah and his crew in the first place. And it was up to her to resolve the situation – preferably without staining her hands with more blood.

Tali had Keenah within her sights. If he was drawing the turian assassin after him, Tali would get the chance to stage an ambush – it was the perfect opportunity to eliminate their pursuer once and for all. Tali still didn't know who the assassin worked for or whether his employer would send more assassins after them, but she couldn't really worry about that now. With any luck, she'd have found a way to contact the Council by then.

Keenah seemed nervous around the Presidium residents; he didn't move about them with any particular grace or finesse. He was attracting a lot of second glances from people who turned their noses up at him (figuratively speaking). Tali's heart sank; she wished she could tell Keenah to calm down, but any attempts to alert him to her presence would endanger the both of them. Her priority was to foil the turian assassin. She made a mental note that if she and Keenah survived this, she would take the time to teach him better self-confidence. Being locked away in suits had forced the quarians to compensate for their interpersonal detachment by being outgoing. It was natural, however, for quarians to be more reserved around strangers. But the quarians had a saying: a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet.

Tali wasn't under any illusion that their turian hunter was a friend (assassination attempts weren't the best way to start a friendship).

Following Keenah's progress from the other side of the Presidium lake, Tali used the cover of water features and manicured foliage to mask her approach. She saw that Keenah had panicked and had foolishly left the safety of the public eye by taking a door that led off the Presidium ring. Now he had made himself easy prey for the turian and Tali's one consolation was that she was fairly sure – or rather she hoped – that the turian assassin had no idea that she was right behind them. Never mind the fact that she had no weapon with which to attack the assassin. All she had was Keenah's omni-tool; as a fully-fledged quarian adult, he should have had a superior omni-tool model than her own. Tali felt a jab of yearning; she'd spent a lot of time tinkering with her omni-tool and modifying it to suit her more mischievous purposes. Keenah's seemed foreign to her, but she still knew a few tricks that should work on any omni-tool. There was the minor technicality that her actions would annul the warranty that came with the device, but seeing as their lives were on the line; it seemed like a small price to pay.

Groping for some structure of a plan along the way, Tali jogged across the bridge connecting to the other walkway. She took a more direct approach rather than weaving through the throng of civilians, earning herself more than a few annoyed looks and reprimands.

"Watch where you're going!" a dishevelled asari huffed.

"Sorry," she muttered ruefully, not bothering to look back. "Coming through!"

Asari and salarians parted before her and watched her dart past them as though she were the most interesting phenomenon to have graced the Presidium ring – for of course she was disrupting their carefully-constructed peace.

Tali made it across the lake after elbowing a few more aliens out of her way. She was quite relieved to spare herself further indignity and unwanted attention by exiting via the same door Keenah and the turian assassin had used. There was some strange writing on a plaque on the door that Tali's translator couldn't make heads or tails of. Nevertheless she threw caution to the winds and let herself inside.

She entered what appeared to be a large maintenance area. She'd heard stories about fabled areas of the Citadel where no civilian ever ventured, for they were off-limits to all but the enigmatic group of Keepers – the caretakers of the Citadel. Looking all around her, Tali wondered whether this was Keeper territory. The bulkheads were the same sterile white as outside, but there were no plants or water fountains or benches or anything that might provide comfort and pleasure to sapient life forms. The area had an odd assortment of catwalks and girders at strange angles. Tali wasn't sure whether she could see the way out, but there was no sign of Keenah or the turian.

 

* * *

 

To the best of everyone's knowledge, the insectoid race of Keepers resided exclusively on the Citadel. Physically resembling large aphids, they were thought to have actually been created by the Protheans with the sole purpose of maintaining their great station. By Council law it was illegal to interfere with the Keepers because they were vital to the Citadel's operation and the station could not be maintained without them. The Keepers had been left behind after the Prothean race's disappearance and had carried on their duties ever since, never communicating with anyone else or demonstrating any cultural practices. Somehow the Keepers maintained a constant population despite death by old age or accident; no one knew the source of the replacement Keepers, but many believed that they originated from somewhere deep inside the inaccessible core of the station itself.

Commander Jacobus had chased the quarian with the incriminating data into what must've been a secret area reserved for the Keepers. He couldn't have hoped for a better outcome; he knew that no one ever trespassed in these areas, and so he could safely dispose of the quarian without fear of bystanders witnessing the crime. No doubt many quarians went astray on their Pilgrimages and never returned to the Flotilla; so it was unlikely that this quarian would be missed. Keepers were mute, at least to the sensitivity of other races. Some scientists believed them to commune telepathically, but even the asari hadn't been able to make contact with them. Either way, they wouldn't be snitching on him to C-Sec.

Now that he was off the grounds of the Presidium, Jacobus had no qualms in drawing his weapon. He'd backed his prey into a corner and was ready to make the kill. According to his omni-tool, his quarry wasn't far ahead.

He saw that the male – not the female – had possession of the target omni-tool. The female quarian – the one who had shown the most defiance toward him earlier – had turned out to be a coward, turning over her omni-tool to her companion so that her life would be spared. It made no difference to him who he had to kill in order to satisfy Saren's will; but as a turian, he was disgusted by the quarian's lack of honour.

"You've got nowhere else to run!" he called out, checking all the girders and pipes for shadows. "Meet me face-to-face and I will grant you an honourable end." Turians didn't possess an acute sense of hearing; but they had excellent eyesight (one of the many reasons turians made such good marksmen). However, even a deaf turian would've been able to hear the laboured breathing coming from one of the dark recesses ahead.

Keenah'Breizh had stumbled in his haste and desperation to escape; he had tripped over and twisted his ankle. But he'd managed to drag himself off the main walkway and toward a more secluded alcove. Now he was huddled over on the floor, struggling to catch his breath. "Please," he whimpered, looking up at the assassin who towered over him. "Don't kill me."

Jacobus's mandibles twitched at how pathetic and wretched the quarian was. "Give me the data."

"Keenah!" a familiar voice cried.

Jacobus narrowed his eyes. How could he have allowed himself to be caught off-guard like this? "So, not just a sharp tongue. I have to admit that I'm impressed, but there's nowhere for you to run. If need be, my employer will tear apart the entire Migrant Fleet to get to this data. That should give you an idea of how important it is, and how far we're willing to go."

Tali's arm was sheathed in an orange holographic gauntlet; her finger hovered over the interface, ready to launch an attack at a moment's notice. "Even if we give you the data, you'll kill us. No deal."

Keenah massaged his injured ankle and winced in pain. "Tali... I told you to get out of here."

"You underestimate the quarian people," Tali continued, ignoring her friend's pained mutterings. "You underestimate how far _I'm_ willing to go. Let him go and maybe _I'll_ spare _your_ life."

Jacobus chuckled softly, amused by her threats. "Your words are as empty as your future. You have _no idea_ who you're dealing with."

Tali blinked; all of a sudden, the turian's voice had sounded...different – darker, but something else...something more mechanical and cruel.

"Run, Tali," Keenah blurted. "Run!"

And with that, Jacobus pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Tali's ears were still ringing from the gunshot. She didn't know how she was running; she didn't recall sending the neurological impulses telling her limbs to move. Somehow she'd reacted on instinct, on fear. She'd turned her back on Keenah and the data, and had run like the coward she was. She was too afraid to look over her shoulder in case the turian assassin was waiting for her with his gun. She knew that she couldn't ever afford to stop running.

This was all her fault. Keenah's crew, and now Keenah himself, were dead because of her – because she'd been too stubborn to listen to reason. If only she'd listened to Keenah in the beginning, he would still be alive. How had she gotten herself in this mess? What did she do now? Her options were all exhausted; without the data, she had absolutely no leverage. The Council was now firmly out of her reach. She'd failed her people, her father and Keenah.

Suddenly Tali slowed to a halt. If she was going to die, she would much rather die fighting; she would share her crew's fate because quarians stick together and share each other's fortunes (or misfortunes) no matter what. That knowledge lent her courage – enough to make her take a deep breath, swallow back her choked sobs, and turn around.

The turian assassin was nowhere in sight.

 

* * *

 

Keenah was dying, but he wasn't dead yet. The turian assassin had shot him in the stomach rather than in the head, forcing him to suffer a slow and painful death.

"You've got what you wanted," Keenah croaked. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe more oxygen through his suit's air filtration system. "Just let Tali go."

Commander Jacobus stood over the dying quarian and sneered at him. "I'm going to have some fun with your girlfriend. Regrettably you won't be around to watch."

Keenah tried to lift his head, but it was getting increasingly difficult to stay awake. "No..."

Crouching down to loot his body, Jacobus ripped the omni-tool from his wrist and saw that a data file transfer was in progress. It was the geth data; the transfer was designed to transmit the file itself, wiping it from the sender's device. "Fool!" he growled in frustration.

Keenah forced a weak smile behind his helmet visor in the knowledge that he could take some form of consolation with him to his grave. "Tali was right about one thing. You _do_ underestimate the quarian people."

Jacobus glared at him. "Be grateful that you won't live to see your pathetic species come to an end." He raised the barrel of his gun to the quarian's helmet visor and put Keenah out of his misery.

 

* * *

 

Tali flinched when she heard the reverberating echoes of a second gunshot. She was terrified that she didn't know what was going on; she hadn't been able to find her way back. The place was like a maze, and she could've sworn that the layout had been changed since she first walked in. She knew she wasn't alone; she could tell that the Keepers were around in the shadows or up on the highest platforms. They didn't seem to pay her any mind, and for now she liked it that way.

But now, suddenly, there was movement. She felt something brush by her legs, and she whipped round to see one of the giant Keepers scuttle past her. She screamed and jumped back in disgust; she'd never been a fan of spiders and the Keepers shared a few similarities with large, ugly spiders.

There were others on the move now too, all heading in the same direction; toward the source of the gunshot. Perhaps the turian had killed one of their own or perhaps they were reacting to Keenah's dead body.

Her omni-tool beeped and Tali glanced down at her wrist. There was a message telling her that a data file transfer was complete.

She realised, with rising apprehension, that Keenah had used his final moments to send Tali a parting gift. It could be one of two things: the geth data or the letter from her father – the same letter she'd avoided reading ever since she'd left home; the same letter that could now possibly be gone forever. She wondered which outcome she would prefer. If the letter was indeed gone, then it gave her the perfect excuse not to have read it. But if the letter had survived and was stored on her new omni-tool, then she would have to read it because Keenah had died to send it to her...and then everything that had happened this last week would have come to nothing... Her adventure would've been over before it had begun.

"There you are," came a low growl.

Tali didn't have time to react before the wind was knocked from her chest and a searing pain coursed through her veins, becoming the only reality she knew. The pain was so intoxicating that for a while she couldn't think; it took her several moments to register that her arm was the source of the throbbing and that she'd been shot. She reached up to her wound in disbelief and stared at her bloodied fingers when she checked her hand. She'd never been shot before...

"Last chance to run away," Jacobus goaded her, marching up the catwalk toward her.

Tali saw that he was still some distance away, and that he was lining up his next shot. "Help!" she tried appealing to the Keepers in the vicinity.

Jacobus paused for a moment to see whether any of the Keepers were altering course to aid the quarian. But, just as he'd predicted, they didn't show any signs that they were even aware of their presence. "They won't help you," he told her. "You're just a pathetic little suit rat who's made my job a lot more difficult than it needed to be."

"Good," Tali blurted; "I'm glad." She started to take small steps backwards. "Bye." Cradling her injured arm, she spun on her heels and ran. But she hadn't been able to find an exit thus far; her only hope was to find a control panel – perhaps there she could rearrange the layout like the Keepers had done.

Jacobus saw that the quarian had opted to find higher ground by climbing the ramps. He turned his gaze further along the circuit and spotted what she was heading for.

Slotting a fresh thermal clip into his weapon, he looked up and gave chase.

 

* * *

 

"Keelah!" Tali did well to keep her balance as she ran up the slopes and tried to avoid the bullets peppering the underside of the ramp. It was a miracle one didn't find her foot – or something worse.

The turian assassin was doing everything he could to undo her. Her balance was more precarious the higher she climbed, and he would stand and rattle the railings to try and shake her off. Tali quickly learned to drop to her stomach, spreading her weight out more evenly across the planks. She crawled like a caterpillar up to the console ahead and gingerly got to her knees so that she could reach the interface.

By this time she was sweating profusely inside her suit. There was no time to prise the panel off the console and fiddle with the circuitry; she'd have to hack in and create a bypass so that she could interface from her omni-tool. Fortunately the work wasn't strenuous enough to be impeded by her injury; she would have to use brains, not brawn if she wanted to escape alive. She'd hacked into so many systems before that she could easily do it in her sleep.

"Aha, got you!"

Her triumph, however, was short-lived once she saw the gibberish on the screen. It wasn't like any language she'd ever seen; she wasn't even sure if it _was_ a language.

"That data is _mine_!" Jacobus was tearing up the ramp toward her. "Give it to me!"

"Faster, faster," Tali willed herself. Over a dozen algorithms were listed on the screen and she didn't even know where to begin. Closing her eyes, she selected one at random.

An alarm klaxon sounded and something flashed up onscreen. Tali didn't need to be multi-lingual to understand that it was a warning of impending danger.

"Oh, Keelah," she muttered.

"What have you done?" Jacobus demanded.

"I don't know," Tali confessed; "but I'm not sticking around to find out." It was a gamble, she knew; but the only feasible option was to keep climbing upwards.

Everything was starting to shake now; there was an ominous rumbling sound coming from the ground, and a whole column of Keepers appeared from the recess where Keenah had died. They were moving towards the ramps, trying to climb up after Jacobus and Tali.

Jacobus was too busy picking the Keepers off to notice that Tali had made her scramble for the surface. As she scaled higher up the poles, she saw a small shaft like a vent – just big enough for a quarian to slip through.

She had one chance to leap the distance; if she failed, she would fall to her death. If she didn't jump, she would most likely die anyway – by whatever had alarmed the Keepers or the turian assassin and his gun.

"Keelah Se'lai." She took a deep breath and jumped, flailing to catch the edge of the shaft just as a fire broke out below. She could feel the heat burning the soles of her boots while she dangled and struggled to pull her weight up with her injured arm. Once inside the vent, she didn't remember crawling to safety; all she remembered was embracing the open air and light of day. There she slumped down the wall, scarcely caring about where she was or what dangers there might have been. She was alive; more importantly her omni-tool was intact. "I made it," she whispered; "made...it..."

 

* * *

 

Tali was now faced with returning to the Migrant Fleet and living a relatively simple, peaceful life with her friends and kin; isolated from the other species in the galaxy. Or she could accept the dangerous task bestowed upon her and journey deeper along the path of peril and unpredictable experiences. Tali was young; she'd never had to make an important decision like this before – her father had always made them for her. But was this really so different from leaving her home in the first place? Hadn't she already done the hard part? The rest was all part of the adventure, part of her Pilgrimage.

If she asked her father what he would do, she knew what he would say. Quarians often minded their own business from the rest of the galaxy; they'd been shunned ever since the geth revolt. It was rare that a quarian should get embroiled in Citadel affairs, but when they did; they should do everything in their power to help. _'We're a part of this galaxy too'_ , he often repeated to the rest of the Admiralty Board. As long as quarians breathed, they were worth something; they had the power to influence the galaxy if they wished.

Tali knew then that she may never return to the Migrant Fleet; she may never live to see her friends or her father ever again. But did any of that matter if she had something more important to do? She didn't know whether she believed in destiny or higher powers; but she knew that she'd been given something important – something of galactic importance. And for the sake of everyone involved, she had to keep the data safe and survive long enough to hand it over to someone who would know what to do with it.

She made to pull herself to her feet and winced for her troubles. Her suit had sustained a rupture from the gunshot to her arm, and foreign contaminants were being allowed to mix freely with her blood. If she didn't seek medical attention, she could die from infection. That was her first point of call. After that...she really was making it all up as she went along.

Her first experience of the Citadel hadn't exactly imprinted fond memories, but Tali still retained hope that there were some good people out there – people willing to help a destitute quarian down on her luck. All she had to do was find them.

 

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to Tali, Commander Jacobus had managed to survive the incinerating plume of flames by holding onto the ramp for dear life. That wasn't to say he was completely unscathed; coughing and spluttering violently, he was badly burned and in an even fouler mood than before. What was more; the quarian and the data were both out there somewhere. He had to find them – find them and destroy them once and for all. Saren demanded it, and now so did he.


	8. A Spectre Reformed, a Spectre Accused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know whether this chapter will read as too long – especially on this website. If it is, I can only apologise. It is what it is. The segment dealing with exposing Saren to the Council and the Spectre induction has literally been a b-i-t-c-h to write, so much so that I've had to break it down into three chapters. I now know that I am way too obsessive when I spend over three hours in-game running around the Citadel to expose Saren, getting every single dialogue option and such. Rest-assured, I'm not going to do that ever again!
> 
> Expect deviations from canon here – again I hope that they're not wildly farfetched. Basically I prefer to use familiar faces rather than new ones.
> 
> I really hope that I've got this right (now, having said that, I've probably jinxed my luck). Here's to hoping that I haven't bitten off more than I can chew.
> 
> Credit as always to the ever-helpful Mass Effect Wiki – I don't know where I'd be without it. And a huge thanks to LightVader7of9 for suffering the headache of proof-reading my work.

 

**Chapter 8**

 

The last time SJ Shepard had been told to put her game face on hadn't been for anything related to her day job; but for something altogether more personal. You could even say that it had marked a significant turning-point in her life.

She'd been a green, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed age of twenty-two at the time.

 

**Elysium, Vetus System (Petra Nebula, Milky Way) – 2176**

 

The Human Systems Alliance's MO was simple: expansion. Since the advent of FTL travel, humans had migrated from Earth and had spread out across the galaxy in waves of fortune-finders, pleasure-seekers and adventurers.

Whilst Eden Prime was undoubtedly humanity's most famous and peaceful colony; Elysium held the title of being humanity's oldest colony in the Skyllian Verge – named historically after the Elysian Fields from Earth's Ancient Greek culture; the myth suited the great Alliance hero Jon Grissom's vision to retire on a planet that was fit to be a final resting place for heroic souls such as himself.

Elysium's population had expanded quickly after the human colony had officially been founded in 2160, attracting just as many aliens as humans to the alpine retreat – hardly a surprise since the planet was advantageously situated at the heart of several mass relays; converting the planet into a dynamic, thriving hub for travel and commerce.

Sixteen years of settlement had generated a capacity of 8.3 million inhabitants (not counting the surplus 223,500 on the five space stations in orbit), and it was by no means out-of-the-ordinary to live alongside an eclectic mix of aliens hailing from all the Council races and more when in Illyria, the planet's bustling capital. The city held many wonders and tributes to humanity's progress among the stars; but it was also renowned for a spectacular mountain lake resort that offered the best of both worlds when it came to training and relaxation. Not only was it popular with tourists, but a lot of military personnel flocked there for shore leave to enjoy everything from skiing and white water-rafting for adrenaline junkies, to the more relaxed activity of fishing.

On the outskirts of the resort's complex was a quaint little restaurant constructed in the log cabin style; with roaring fireplaces and memorabilia celebrating alpine sports and animals from Earth. It was here that SJ Shepard had reserved a cosy booth in the back of the restaurant with a checkered table cloth, candles and a bottle of champagne on ice.

Shepard had perused the Terran artefacts on display many times – as fascinated and ignorant about Earth as the alien tourists. The fact that she wasn't an expert on the home planet of her species had never bothered her; she'd always been far more interested learning about the bigger picture. She knew that before the great human colonies of Eden Prime, Terra Nova and Elysium; humanity's very first colony outside the Sol System had been seeded by Earth's Delta Pavonis Foundation on a planet they had named Demeter. Shepard's classroom had quite literally been in space; she couldn't help but feel disassociated from any singular planet. She'd always thought of planets as confined cages compared to the limitless playground of space.

At school she'd also had the benefit of learning from the First Contact War against the turians from an unbiased perspective. What no human who had participated in the conflict had wanted to admit was that the turians had been doing their duty to protect the rest of the galaxy. It turned out that the Citadel Council had strict laws against activating dormant mass relays for a very good reason. The Rachni invasion and subsequent Rachni Wars were held up as a cautionary tale. Curiosity was a healthy thing, but acting on it wasn't. Humans had been naive, short-sighted and inconsiderate of the consequences for others. Hopefully that had been a lesson well-learned.

It was a convenient train of thought when she was planning something drastic.

Shepard checked the chronometer on her omni-tool for the umpteenth time. It wasn't that her girlfriend was late; it was that she was anxious. This evening was supposed to be enjoyable and memorable, but she wasn't nearly as relaxed or enjoying herself in the same way as if she were out socialising with her friends. She almost wished that she'd taken up the offer to go to the local club, have a few drinks with her friends and dance the night away. But, alas, she was stuck in a secluded niche at the back of a restaurant, squirming uncomfortably in clothes that were much smarter than her favoured jeans and t-shirt combo (depending on the climate). She usually made a point not to wear formal civilian clothes, not when she sometimes had to wear her officer's dress while on the job. Civvies were meant to be comfortable and casual, but the situation this evening called for a touch of maturity – in this case a pair of grey tweed slacks, a white shirt unbuttoned below the collar, a grey waistcoat and a pair of smart polished brogues to boot.

Truth be told, she felt a little conspicuous when everyone else in the establishment was dressed in ski pants and turtle-necked jumpers. She noted that there were less turians around during the colder periods of the year since they preferred warmer climates and most certainly didn't enjoy snow. While it was true that Shepard was more accepting of aliens compared to Earth-born humans, she tended to keep herself to herself whenever she was here. She was curious enough to learn about aliens in the classroom, but she wasn't bold enough to ask one out for a drink or to go bowling.

In any case, she had deliberately opted not to pack for any sporting events during her stay at the resort; she was officially on holiday. If she was to engage in any exercise at all, it would be in her hotel room with her girlfriend. And, if all went according to plan tonight; Shepard would have a fiancée. As though her subconscious were intent on torturing her; she recalled the wise idiom as quoted by a famous general in the Alliance military handbook: 'No plan survives first contact with the enemy'.

Samantha Traynor wasn't the enemy, she reminded herself; she was just having some last-minute jitters – which were nothing some alcohol couldn't fix. Since she was saving the champagne for later, she was having a warm-up beer instead. She just needed to get in the mood; she should've been excited to be committing herself to the love of her life – when she'd been choosing a ring, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But the more she sat and stewed; the more nervous and worried she felt. Doubts began to niggle at the back of her mind: was she doing the right thing? – Had she even thought it through? Of course it was a no-brainer, she kept reminding herself; she was in love with Sam, so proposing to her was the right thing to do. How could it not be?

"You got everything you need?" came a male voice.

Making a start, Shepard looked up and forced a smile; the restaurant staff had been supportive in helping her organise every detail of this dinner. "Yep, I guess I'm as ready as I can be."

"You guess?"

Shepard stared at him as though dumbfounded. _Last chance to run and never look back._ "I'm sure." She didn't know who she was trying to convince; the waiter or herself.

The waiter clapped her shoulder. "Time to put your game face on because here she comes now. Good luck."

Shepard watched him walk away and saw that Sam had appeared at the front desk. Acting on instinct, Shepard snatched up her beer and tilted the rim to her lips, carelessly spilling most of the liquid on herself in the process.

"Shit," she swore, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the stains. _Why did I have to wear a white shirt on the one night where I absolutely have to stay clean? Why?_ She'd purposely opted out of donning a black shirt, thinking it too morbid for such an occasion (this wasn't supposed to be her funeral after all). "Shit, shit, shit. Come on."

Spitting some saliva into her napkin, she rubbed it into her sleeve. She was nervous and making mistakes, which was ironic considering that she was trained to be calm and cool under pressure. Right now she would've preferred bullets flying over her head rather than the butterflies dancing around in the bowels of her stomach.

Her botched touch-up would have to suffice because Sam was coming her way.

This year the Alliance had been busy preparing a new station, the Jon Grissom Academy (in honour of the man himself), for commission. Apparently it was to serve as an institute of education for the brightest human children – all of whom would be awarded scholarships by the Alliance. Those select children were to be the future of the Alliance. Shepard kept her opinions on politics to herself, but she knew that Sam had been very excited to be part of the tech team getting the station's systems in working order. The Academy was especially important as the Alliance's newest pet project since their other main station in the system, named Sidon, had been shut down over ten years ago – for reasons which were classified.

Shepard had offered to collect Sam from the shuttle terminal, but Sam had had plans to meet a few friends before dinner – gifting Shepard with more time to prepare and worry. Now that the big moment had arrived, her limbs turned to jelly and her mind went blank. _What do I do now?_

"SJ," Sam waved at her as she was being guided to the table by a waiter. Thanks to her ethnic heritage, Sam had bronzed skin and looked absolutely drop-dead gorgeous in anything turquoise. She wore her sleek black hair in a ponytail and was minimalistic when it came to makeup – just enough eyeliner and mascara to accentuate her beautiful chocolate eyes, and a light layer of gloss on her cherubic lips.

Shepard sprang to her feet and extricated herself from the booth with about as much grace and care as a rhino (fortunately the beer had already become a casualty and could do no more harm). She took a deep breath and managed to procure a lopsided grin when Sam came up to her and threw her arms around her neck.

Shepard hugged her close, enjoying the comforting familiarity of Sam's body and scent. Samantha Traynor was a colony kid, born on Horizon – a planet out in the Terminus Systems. Her parents were originally from a place called London on Earth (Sam herself was said to have a strong British accent) but had exchanged their lacklustre life on Earth for freedom on the colonies. Sam had gone to Earth to receive a superior education compared to what Horizon could offer her – which was where Shepard had had the good fortune to meet her. Her parents hadn't had the money to support her at university, but the Alliance had taken notice of her high aptitude scores and had given her a full scholarship. She'd only recently graduated from the prestigious Oxford University and was on a well-deserved break before she decided what to do with herself.

As they drew apart, Shepard gave a quick peck on the lips (she was mindful that through all her fussing and fidgeting, she'd completely forgotten to take a breath mint for good measure). "So, how was your trip?"

"Pretty uneventful," Sam admitted, taking her seat. "It's good to be on solid ground again." She smiled when Shepard popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and poured her a glass. "Thank you. This is great; I had no idea that you'd gone to so much trouble."

After she'd poured herself a glass, Shepard replaced the bottle in the chilled bucket and smiled. "It's not the kind of den of iniquity I usually inhabit, but I figured that tonight is a special occasion."

"Oh?" Sam looked genuinely bemused. "Are we celebrating something?"

"Well," Shepard sat down and raised her glass in a toast; "we haven't seen each other for a long time, so...it's nice to see you."

"Hear, hear," Sam tapped her glass with her own before tasting the pale golden liquid. "Mmm. You look great by the way," she complimented her.

"Yeah?" Shepard patted down her waistcoat. "I managed to spill beer on my shirt just when you got here."

Sam laughed. "I meant that your training is working wonders – but I didn't actually notice the beer stain until you mentioned it."

"Huh." Shepard looked up. "Way to sell myself out." She sipped from her glass. "Yeah, Anderson's pushing us hard. I've only just got the feeling back in my legs after our last training exercise – a week of drill at Vila Militar followed by a three-week-long stint on Titan."

Sam pulled a sympathetic face. "Ouch."

"Yep. So while I'm here; I intend to be as lazy as humanly possible. But I _do_ have a written exam next week to cram for – I was hoping you could help?"

"Er, sure."

"Cool." Shepard smiled; she had fond memories of revision sessions when they'd first met on Earth. As distracting as a whirlwind romance during an important exam period was; spending a full two days in bed had been quite an incentive to put her head down and work hard. In fact, if Sam hadn't been such a good study partner; Shepard likely wouldn't have been as well off as she was then. Her instructors would've failed her before she could get into the N7 program; she probably would've gone on to scrubbing toilets on transport barges. "Sorry – don't mind me. How was it at the JGA?" JGA was short for the Jon Grissom Academy.

Sam gave her a teasing smile. "You know that I'm not allowed to talk about it, SJ."

"What? Why not?"

"I signed a non-disclosure agreement. You, missy, don't have the necessary security clearance."

Shepard adopted a mock frown. "That's so unfair. I'm gonna lose sleep over that."

"I'm sure you will," Sam agreed.

"How come you get to be a part of something top secret and I don't?"

Sam shrugged. "Because Professor Knowles invited me."

"Oh, he _invited_ you. Teacher's pet. Should I be worried?"

Sam laughed. "Eww. He's a middle-aged balding man with allergies – _and_ he hates dogs. But, er, _obviously_ I'd do _anything_ to get ahead of the game." She shook her head. "Honestly. You're cute when you're jealous."

Shepard smiled. "Maybe I should let everyone know that you're spoken for."

"Oh really? And how are you going to do that? No tattoos – I'm not getting a tattoo; my mum would _kill_ me."

"No tattoos," Shepard agreed. She wasn't ready to drop the bombshell yet. "Are you ready to order a starter?"

 

* * *

 

By the time dinner arrived, Shepard felt more relaxed. From the first moment they'd met, she'd always found it easy to talk with Sam; she was friendly, easy-going and approachable – and of course it didn't hurt that she was intelligent and attractive. Even though Shepard had received her education at an Alliance academy, her intellect was nowhere near on par with Sam's. Shepard's interest in astronomy and history looked more like a hobby compared to Sam's degrees in software programming, engineering and communications technologies. In fact, when it came down to it, they didn't have a whole lot in common – other than the fact that they hadn't been born on Earth.

There were times when Shepard had completely zoned-out whenever Sam had been talking about her work (she didn't know the first thing about quantum mechanics and sub-space communications). It wasn't that Shepard envied her superior brain cells; she actually thought that Sam's concerns were small-time and – dare she say it – trivial. Of course she would never tell Sam to her face and risk breaking her heart by putting her down and saying that her work didn't matter. She'd gotten used to gritting her teeth and keeping her thoughts to herself; the fact that, really, she was ahead of Sam. She was out in space, on the frontlines and in close proximity to aliens. Human colonies were behind her; just like taking rescue dogs for walks and playing chess were behind her. She'd spent her whole life training for first contact with aliens, and she didn't really care whether it benefitted Earth or not.

She got the sense that Sam knew it too; things felt different between them every time they met up like this. _And I'm meant to be asking her to marry me._

There were plenty of positives to draw from their relationship. Sam had an amazing personality; they had a lot of fun together when they weren't talking about their careers, and the sex was great – they'd always had good chemistry right from the start. But was it enough to support a future together? Was Shepard ready for the brood of kids, the dog and the picket fence?

"So...I've been thinking." Sam prodded her food, sidetracked from eating. "Working on the JGA was an incredible opportunity – an amazing experience and whatnot. I know I've got compulsory service ahead of me, and I was thinking that I've trained for a specialised subject area..." Sam took a deep breath. "I've been offered a job in R&D. The money's good and I get full Alliance benefits."

Shepard looked up. "Sam, that's great; congratulations. How come you didn't say anything earlier?"

"Well, I just... It's a big decision. We should probably talk about it."

"What's there to talk about? You've worked really hard; you deserve it – it's the job of your dreams."

"Yeah..." Sam's face fell. "It's on Earth – in a high security-clearance facility. Which means that I won't get a lot of time off."

"I'm sure we can work something out," Shepard shrugged.

Sam tried to catch her gaze. "That depends a lot on you."

Shepard's mouth was full; "What d'you mean?"

"You live a life of spontaneity. After you graduate as an N7, what then?"

"I dunno. You make it sound like a done-deal, but I'm years away from making the grade."

"Exactly; your training is already taking you away. Then when you get your beret, you'll be sent off to the frontlines and I might never see you again."

Shepard put her knife and fork down. "Where's this coming from?"

Sam held her gaze and sighed. "I just think we need to work out a few things."

"Such as?"

"The future, _our_ future – whether we have one."

Shepard stared at her; she felt her pulse quicken as beads of sweat began to form on her brow. "Sam... I'd like to think we do."

Sam searched her eyes. "Yeah?"

Shepard dabbed her mouth with her napkin and reached into her trouser pocket. "In fact, that's why I went to all this trouble. I kind of wanted to ask you..." Instead of finishing her sentence, she placed a little velvet box on the table cloth and nudged it toward her. "Go ahead and open it."

"What is it?"

"It's probably a really bad idea, but...will you marry me?"

Sam barked out a laugh; "You're kidding, right?" She fell silent when she saw her girlfriend's deadpan expression. "Oh, God, you're _not_ kidding..." She lowered her gaze to the box in front of her. "Shit."

Shepard sighed heavily. "Will you just open it?"

Sam obliged her; every muscle in her face contorted in shock when she gradually opened the lid and exposed the white-gold solitaire diamond ring to the open air. "Wow," she conceded. She lifted her gaze; "SJ, you can't afford something like this."

"I took out a loan."

" _What_? Do you have any idea about the interest rates -?"

"You never answered my question," Shepard cut across her.

Sam took a deep breath and returned her gaze to the ring. "This is a really, really _huge_ decision."

"Try it on if it'll help."

Sam popped the ring from its holder and slid it onto her finger, gulping when she saw the way the precious stone twinkled in the candle light. "It's beautiful – really beautiful. You have good taste."

"I chose it because I thought you'd like it."

"I do; it's gorgeous. But I can't accept it." Sam drew the ring from her finger and replaced it safely inside its box. "I can't marry you."

Shepard clenched her jaw; all her imaginings about this moment had included excited squeals followed by hugs, kisses and more squeals.

"Oh, God." Sam felt horrid under the weight of _that_ look – the one that showed her how Shepard's heart was breaking before her very eyes. "You said it yourself; it's a bad idea."

"But I love you, Traynor. You're the first person I've fallen in love with and I want to build my future with you."

A faint smile played across Sam's lips; calling her by her surname had always been Shepard's term of affection for her.

"I'm serious about this," Shepard continued; "I wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't. I love you."

Sam softened her expression. "I love you too, but let's be realistic about this... You're in the Alliance Navy, SJ; you don't have any permanent roots. You come and you go... I can't depend on you to always be there." She could see that her words weren't very effective. "What I'm trying to say is that I have goals that I'm working toward; I have everything planned out. But you...you haven't even decided what you're going to eat for dinner tomorrow."

Shepard frowned. "What? Who plans what they're going to eat for dinner the next day? Isn't that like OCD or something?"

Sam shook her head. "This is exactly my point. We're at two completely different stages in our lives. You've got an exciting career ahead of you, and when you've got someone like David Anderson – someone who's taken you under his wing and who sees something in you – you _know_ that you're destined for bigger things. Be honest with yourself; you don't really want to settle down."

"You don't know what I want, Sam," Shepard replied defensively. "I want to put down roots – with you. You are my home; you're the reason I come down from space." She grimaced at the sound of her own words. "I know that doesn't exactly sound romantic..."

"SJ," Sam reached out and took both her hands in her own. "Sweetheart, we're not ready to get married."

Shepard bit her lip. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"I... I'm just pointing out that you haven't really thought this through – I mean _really_. It pains me to say it, but you should take this beautiful ring back to the shop and clear your debts. Because believe me; you do not want to start life with baggage on your shoulders -"

"Spare me the bullshit, Sam." Shepard withdrew her hands. "Is that what all this is about? – I'm baggage you don't want to lug around with you during your brilliant new career on Earth?"

"What? No, of course not," Sam spluttered. "I'm trying to do you a favour. I know you; I know that you make rash decisions and pay for them later. I know that you've never committed to anything in your life, and I think that completing your N7 training would be a good thing – I think you owe it to yourself and everyone else supporting you. How can I possibly deprive you of that? I can't anchor you to a colony world and expect you to be happy."

"Last time I checked, marriage wasn't a prison sentence."

Sam sighed. "No. But as much as I love you...I don't want to be a soldier's wife, never knowing what you're doing; whether you're safe or whether you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere – or if you've been blown apart into a million pieces across space... I can't go through that fear for the rest of my life. I'm sorry."

Shepard considered her words at length. "So you want me to retire, is that it?"

"No," Sam said firmly. "I want you to continue your training and see it through to the end. You've got a good thing going for you; you've got Commander Anderson who believes in you."

"I don't care about Anderson; I want you to believe in me – in us."

Sam softened her expression. "I do believe in you, SJ; I believe that you're going to be great. I'm just not brave enough to come along for the ride. My biggest adventure was going to Earth for the first time. I'm not like you; I'm not driven by the urge to explore strange new things. I like safe things like vanilla ice cream, ready-salted crisps, margarita pizza and animal documentaries on TV. I don't have that same explorer's urge that you have; I know that there are aliens and other wonders out there, and I'm happy to stay here in the colonies and stick with what I know. But you... Exploration is in your blood, and there's still so much out there you've yet to see and experience. And when you do...you'll realise that I'm doing you a favour right now. You said that I'm the first person you've fallen in love with. SJ, I won't be the last. We're both young; our lives are only just beginning. You'll almost certainly find a better offer out there in the big, wide galaxy."

"I won't though." Shepard had to fight hard to keep her voice from breaking. "I can change – I can be the person you need me to be. You _can_ depend on me to be there for you."

Sam couldn't bear to look at her directly. "You're still getting to know yourself and establish the person you will be. You know that I love you to bits – I really do. I just...I don't see a way..."

"I'll do anything," Shepard promised her. "Soul-searching, hypnosis – something."

"It doesn't work that way. I think the bubbles have gone to our heads," she added, motioning to the empty bottle of champagne. "I'm not trying to hurt you; I'm trying to let you go and be free to do what you need to do. Who knows? Maybe in the future..."

Shepard turned her head away to hide her misery. At the same time she caught sight of the waiter who had been particularly helpful earlier; he was giving her a thumbs-up as though waiting for a sign that all was going well with the dinner and the plan. It was all Shepard could do not to slump forwards into her plate of some exotic local delicacy whose name she could barely pronounce. "Why did you bother meeting me if you don't want to be with me?"

"I _do_ want to be with you," Sam assured her. "I didn't realise that you were going to propose marriage – I'm not a mind-reader."

"So you're saying that we don't have a future together and we never did. This is what it is."

"SJ... You're just not ready for what I need in my life."

Shepard shook her head; she'd never thought of Sam as being a selfish, self-centred person; but there was a first time for everything. "What about me? What about what I need?"

"You need to start your adventure with a clean slate."

"I need a home," Shepard corrected her. "I need a reason to come home."

"No pressure, then," Sam scoffed. "Do you even understand what you're asking me? How can you expect me to make a serious commitment to you when you know full-well that you can't reciprocate? It's okay for me to take you in and give you a home, while you contribute nothing but the clothes on your back – and you'll still be miserable. It's not what you want and it's not what I want. Face it; we're just not compatible right now." She paused to let her words sink in. "We probably never will be. Either way, I can't put my life on hold and wait for you to be ready. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Shepard concluded bitterly. Without looking at her, she rose to her feet and scooped the ring into her pocket. "The meal's being billed straight to my account, so you don't have to worry about that. You should order another bottle of champagne – celebrate now that you've got me out of your life. You're free to move on and become successful."

Sam grimaced. "SJ. Come on; it's not like that."

Shepard marched out of the restaurant, deaf to her girlfriend's appeals for her to come back – but not before sparing a glare at the waiter when he tried to ask what had happened. She didn't feel the cold when she broke out into the night and she wandered the streets all night long until a contingent of batarian pirates had landed and launched an attack on Elysium in the name of someone called Elanos Haliat.

Ironically not giving Sam the ring had helped save her life that night with the batarians. But that was a story for another time.

 

* * *

 

**_SSV Normandy_ , the Citadel, Serpent Nebula (Widow System, Milky Way) – 2183**

Lieutenant-Commander Shepard didn't often relive the past; she made a point to avoid it wherever possible. She was the type to bottle things up for years at a time, and then come clean in the most embarrassing fashion while excruciatingly drunk – but even that didn't happen much anymore now that she'd cut back her alcohol consumption drastically since it had nearly destroyed her life as a young adult. Shepard owed a lot to mentors like Anderson and friends like Joker.

She really didn't have much to cry about in her life; she'd lived in the lap of luxury compared to most other people. The only truly tragic thing had been the death of her father five years ago, but Shepard knew that she wasn't entitled to the grief and suffering that should have belonged to her mother. And if her mother could hold her head high and carry on as though nothing had happened, so could she.

Shepard lifted her gaze. No matter what happened today; it surely couldn't be worse than getting her heart broken. This human Spectre business was Captain Anderson's dream; not hers. Over the years Shepard had turned into something of a pessimist; she'd learned not to get her hopes up. That way she could only be proved right or be pleasantly surprised.

Shepard had been shallow, naive and irresponsible in her younger days, taking everything – especially her girlfriend – for granted. After they'd drifted apart, Shepard had taken a leaf out of Sam's book and had resorted to always taking the safe options. She'd played it so safe that her life had all but ground to a halt; she'd been rotting away into oblivion until Captain Anderson had swung in to the rescue with his cool new spaceship. And if Joker hadn't been the friend he was and given her the push she'd desperately needed to kick-start her vitality...it didn't bear thinking about.

It was true that she'd been hurt and miserable for a long time after Sam had disappeared from her life for good. She had yet to get the better offer Sam had dressed up and sold as a major feature of living the bachelor marine's life in space. Sam had claimed to be doing her a favour by letting her go free, but she was yet to reap the benefits. Perhaps Joker had been right to force her off Arcturus so that she could start living her life again.

She'd got off to a brilliant start; a man had died while under her command and she had unravelled something significant with the Prothean beacon – before it had been destroyed. Now she was not only in trouble with her superiors, but with a group of alien councillors she'd never met. For the first time in a very long time, she had no idea what lay in store for her during the next few hours. All she knew was that she was only beginning to scratch the surface of something that could change the course of her life. As she watched the Citadel's ward arms embrace the _Normandy_ on their final approach, she knew that there was no turning back. _Right into the belly of the beast._

Joker noticed Shepard fidgeting beside him. "Those things chafe in all the worst places."

"Tell me about it," Shepard muttered. In preparation for meeting with the Council, she and Staff Lieutenant Alenko had donned formal officer's dress for the occasion.

"Keep picking at your uniform and you'll wear it out," said Captain Anderson, ducking back inside the cockpit. "Joker, have we been allocated a docking bay yet?" He rested his hand on the headrest of the pilot's chair and leaned over.

"Aye, aye, sir; telemetry's just coming in now. I've disengaged the engines and we're on manoeuvring thrusters only."

"Steady as she goes," Anderson reminded his pilot. "I wonder what kind of welcoming committee we'll have." He straightened up and turned to Shepard and Alenko. "Ready to meet the Council, you two?"

"As long as they don't bite, sir," Shepard said seriously.

"I'm quite looking forward to it, sir," Alenko confessed. "The Citadel Council is the epitome of galactic society. It's always been a childhood dream of mine to step foot in the great Tower."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "It's a shame the Tower isn't open to regular citizens and tourists, or the elevator ride would become a popular tourist attraction, I'm sure. When you've had to endure the long time it takes to scale the one thousand and forty-seven metres a couple of times, the novelty quickly wears off."

Alenko smiled. "Even so, it's an incredible privilege to rub shoulders with the galaxy's leaders."

"I suppose you're right," Anderson agreed. "And on that note, it's best not to keep them waiting – especially since we've got to check in with Ambassador Udina first." He led the way to the airlock. "Coming, Chief?"

Ashley Williams had withdrawn to the bridge while the senior officers in the cockpit talked among themselves and waited for progress updates on their landing slot. "Captain?"

"You were on Eden Prime, Chief," Anderson explained; "you should attend the debriefing with us."

"Aye, sir." Ashley stepped inside the airlock after the smartly-clad trio. She felt a little dressed-down, but didn't envy their restrictive dress uniforms.

Joker swivelled his chair around. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Begin the equalisation cycle," Anderson ordered.

"Yes, sir, and remember to bring me back a souvenir."

Anderson frowned at Shepard; if Lieutenant Moreau stepped out of line or infuriated him, it was effectively Shepard's responsibility (she had insisted bringing her best friend along as a package deal).

"He'll be happy with a postcard," Shepard assured him. "With an asari on it," she added as an afterthought.

" _Equalising interior pressure with exterior atmosphere,"_ the _Normandy_ 's VI announced.

There was a moment's silence.

"Why an asari?" Kaidan enquired, looking genuinely puzzled.

Ashley looked at him, a little bewildered. "Because men are shallow." Many of her squad mates had had pinup pictures of topless asari. Personally she couldn't understand the allure of aliens – the thought of interspecies sex disgusted her. Still, boobs were boobs – they just came in different shapes, sizes and colours. Apparently blue ones were still attractive, or maybe the appeal of asari had something to do with the fact that they were 'up for it', as her male colleagues had eloquently put it.

Kaidan averted his gaze. "Right."

Shepard seemed not to notice the somewhat awkward silence. "Actually it's just some inside joke we've got between us. Joker's kind of freaked out by them, so I like to tease him."

Captain Anderson hadn't intended to participate in their chitchat, but he'd found himself fraternising much more with his younger crew members since Shepard had come aboard. He reasoned that some of her sociable energy had rubbed off on him. "Just as well he's not coming with us then; the asari are the most abundant species on the station."

Shepard chuckled. "Damn, missed opportunity. Maybe next time?"

" _Logged: the commanding officer and XO are ashore. Navigator Pressly has the ship."_

Captain Anderson took a deep breath as the hatch slid back with a pneumatic hiss.

A dozen C-Sec officers dressed in full combat hardsuits and armed to the teeth weren't exactly the welcoming committee he had expected.

"We've got the right station haven't we?" Shepard whispered.

Anderson searched the infantry line and picked out their leader, an asari. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded to know.

The asari raised her hand to signal the C-Sec officers to stand down. She was eating a sandwich while Anderson strode down the ramp with his group in tow, and promptly thrust the remnants of her lunch into the chest of the nearest officer before licking her fingers and holding out her hand.

"Captain Anderson, right?"

Anderson hesitated.

"Damn," she muttered, switching hands. "I'm Tela Vasir with Special Tactics and Recon."

Anderson briefly indulged her in a handshake; he would've preferred to exchange salutes – most Spectres he knew of were either active or ex military. Nevertheless he took the opportunity to study the dark magenta stripes on Vasir's forehead, around her eyes, on her cheeks, her neck and the single stripe on her chin. He hadn't seen an asari like her before, but he supposed that their markings were unique – much like a human's fingerprint.

"Sorry about the less-than-warm welcome," Vasir continued, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny – or used to it. "Given the nature of your cargo, it's a Council formality. And with everything else going on at the moment, we've been ordered to implement additional precautionary measures."

"I understand," Anderson conceded grudgingly. There was dark disdain etched on his features as he watched a group of officers board his ship. "Joker had better be on his best behaviour," he added to his XO.

"I'm sure he'll be a model representative for us, sir," Shepard didn't sound overly convinced.

"This shouldn't take long," Vasir assured them. "The Council's expecting you."

Anderson was painfully aware of the fact. "Do we have to stand here through this inspection? I requested a meeting with the human ambassador _before_ we meet with the Council."

Vasir frowned, though not too deeply. "What for? Your ambassador has already opened your case with the Council; they're getting ready to conduct a hearing right now."

Anderson stared sharply at her. "Excuse me?"

"You haven't heard?" Vasir looked just as confused as Anderson but before she could answer, two turian officers emerged from the ship carrying a containment chamber between them. The asari Spectre held her hand up to signal them to stop so that she could open the lid and peer inside, whistling when she saw the broken fragments of the Prothean beacon. "Aye-aye-aye." She sealed the crate and looked up. "Get this to the techs."

"Yes, ma'am."

Vasir stood with her hands on her utility belt while a line of officers (two to carry the cargo and another four to escort them with weapons) streamed past them. "Yeah, so, as I was saying... The word on the grapevine is that a Spectre attacked Eden Prime. Your ship was there."

Anderson looked round at his companions. "I haven't told anyone else about Saren."

Vasir watched the quartet of humans share a nervous glance and caught the way Ashley scowled at her. "I'll stay out of your business, Captain, but I can tell you that accusing the Council's most famous Spectre of committing treason has caused quite a stir in high places."

Doing his utmost to bury the increasing feeling of unease in his stomach, Anderson faced her; "When did this happen?"

"You tell me." Vasir halted the next group of C-Sec inspectors – a pair of turians lugging an even heavier crate. "What's this?"

"Geth ordnance," the accompanying salarian informed her.

"Really?" Vasir exercised caution with her curiosity and instead waved the officers on their way. "I'm sure the techs will have a nerdgasm over that one." Her omni-tool beeped. "Excuse me." She opened the holographic interface on her wrist and skimmed the urgent message. "Looks like I'm popular today," she remarked, more to herself than to them.

"Are we free to leave or not?" Anderson shifted impatiently on his feet; he most certainly didn't want to stand around and wait while the asari casually browsed her mail inbox.

Vasir looked up. "You're in luck. The Council had dispatched me to escort you straight to them, but I've just been called elsewhere. Remember to watch your backs while you're here on the station." She spared a glance at Ashley who was still in the process of sizing her up. "Between the discovery of a new Prothean beacon shaking up the science community and now assaults on the Presidium... All it'll take will be for a Spectre to go rogue, then I'd have seen it all."

"Thanks for the advice," Anderson replied evenly.

Vasir nodded. "Good luck." She made to turn around, then paused. "You got a problem?" she challenged Ashley, finally succumbing to her annoyance.

The human female tensed, but it was the other who answered for her.

"It's our first time on the Citadel," Shepard explained. She swallowed calmly when the Spectre looked at her directly for the first time in the entire conversation.

"Well, you know what they say," Vasir replied coldly; "the first time's always the hardest." When no one elected to argue the point, she smiled. "I guess I'll see you around."

The ranks of C-Sec officers still guarding the docking bay parted to let the Spectre through.

"What now?" Kaidan asked grimly.

"Udina," Captain Anderson growled, as though that was the answer to all his problems; "He'd better have a damn good explanation for what's going on."

"How could he know about Saren if you didn't tell anyone?" Shepard mused aloud.

"I don't know, but I sure as hell intend to find out."

 

* * *

 

**Citadel Embassies, the Presidium**

The vids didn't do the Presidium justice – not by a long shot. The parts of the station they had traversed thus far had felt like the bowels of an ordinary space station. Stepping out of the elevator and onto the Presidium had felt like stepping into a completely different world. At first glance, it appeared to be an organic environment – complete with ecosystems and lakes – _inside_ an artificial construct. Shepard thought that the recreation was realistic enough; there was even a simulated light breeze, not to mention chirping sounds of birds or other alien animals.

And yet, at the same time, something about the Presidium felt a little...off. Shepard couldn't put her finger on it, and she knew that the problem would nag her until she figured it out.

Something about the perfection felt false, unreal. It was as though it were simply there to be on display, but completely unattainable. As pretty and enticing as the lake was, Shepard didn't see anyone surfing, sailing, swimming or fishing – assuming, of course, that there even were fish...which there probably wasn't. Even the manicured strips of grass were untrodden – for all she knew, there were rules preventing citizens from enjoying everything on offer; they were only permitted to admire it all from a distance, but not touch it.

In a way it was a little bit like a prison. Shepard looked at the faces of passersby and tried to discern how they felt; whether they showed any signs of contentment or depression. Did they know that they were trapped in a simulated environment? – Did they even care? Was it all a conspiracy?

Anderson cleared his throat loudly to attract attention, prompting both Shepard to snap out of her inattentiveness and the asari behind the desk to look up. Shepard hadn't even noticed that her legs had carried her into an open-air reception area; she'd been far too busy being enraptured by the sights – like a bug to a venus fly trap. When she saw that Kaidan and Ashley were staring at her as though she'd done something strange, she felt a little foolish to have been caught off-guard like that.

"What?" she shrugged casually.

Kaidan and Ashley exchanged a glance but said nothing, and Shepard felt like she'd just missed out on the crucial punch-line of a joke.

 _I guess the joke's on me._ Shepard tore herself away from the sights and stepped up beside her captain's shoulder.

"Hello again, Captain Anderson," the asari receptionist smiled.

"Saphyria," his was the polar opposite to her enthusiastic greeting. He'd met the administrative secretary for the embassies numerous times – mostly in passing. She wasn't anything like one of the former human secretaries he used to flirt with twenty years ago. "We're here to see Ambassador Udina." _And wring his neck._

"I'll alert him to your arrival," Saphyria nodded; "You're free to go on up. Have a pleasant day."

Anderson had already edged toward the staircase leading to the human embassy before she could quite finish her sentence.

Shepard had to climb the steps two at a time in order to catch up with him. She'd never seen Anderson this agitated and fretful before; the fact that Anderson was unnerved made Shepard all the more nervous in the run-up to her first encounter with the almighty Citadel Council. "Are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine," Anderson was quick to brush her concerns aside. "Just leave the talking to me, okay? I've had dealings with Udina before; I know how he -"

The door to the human embassy swished open and the echo of a giggle died out as soon as Ambassador Udina bolted to his feet. "What the -?"

On the desk, a scantily-clad asari straightened up. "Donnel, what's going on?"

"God," Anderson muttered, shaking his head; "give me strength."

"Excuse us, miss," Kaidan started, grateful that the asari's back was to them.

"You need to leave," Anderson cut across him, not sharing the lieutenant's mortified courtesy. " _Now._ "

Udina snatched up the asari's cropped shirt and thrust it at her. "We can finish this later," he assured her. "Right now I have business to take care of."

"I'm seeing another client later."

"Fine." Udina shooed her away, eager for her to disappear from sight.

Trying hard to keep a straight-faced expression, Shepard stepped aside to give the asari room to slip past her. "Joker's definitely missing out," she remarked.

Ashley met her gaze. "I can't decide whether it's funny or sad that all these lightyears from Earth, middle-aged men are fooling around with younger women as part of their mid-life crises. I guess some things don't change, no matter how far we advance."

Shepard chuckled, appreciating her sense of humour. "We'll know for sure if he's got the latest Tennekont model." Sports cars were, after all, part of one's mid-life crisis.

Stepping up to the desk, Anderson folded his arms. "One of the perks of the job, huh?"

Udina was quick to recompose himself and replace his blush with a look of aggravation. "Captain Anderson," he enunciated coldly. "It looks like you brought half of your crew with you."

Anderson spared a brief glance at his three companions. "Just the ground team from Eden Prime – those that survived."

"Yes, the Council was _not_ happy to learn that one of their Spectres died."

Shepard tensed; she was still plagued by the knowledge that she had broken Nihlus's order of radio silence. She didn't know for sure that her actions had instigated his death; but as long as there was the possibility...

"I stand behind Shepard and her conduct," Anderson declared. "My crew did the best they could under the circumstances."

Shepard straightened up out of her slouch and clasped her hands behind her back.

Udina turned his gaze to her. "Commander Shepard, I see. Clearly your best wasn't good enough; do you have _any idea_ how you've jeopardised the Alliance's chances with the Council?"

Anderson bristled. "Now wait just a minute -"

"And to top it off," Udina raised his voice to drown his out; "we didn't even get the beacon. That piece of Prothean technology could have advanced the Alliance's technologies by years."

"We were never going to keep the beacon," Anderson reminded him; "we were only securing it for the Council in order to build goodwill."

"Goodwill won't get us the weapons and defence technologies we need to protect ourselves."

The soldier in Anderson agreed with him, but his memory of past experiences with the Council had taught him that goodwill was a two-way street. Life was all about give and take. "So you think we should have taken it?"

"We hardly needed the Council's approval to go and retrieve something that was on human soil. It's funny how they want the prize but they don't want to assume responsibility for the destruction of the colony."

Ashley elected to stay silent even though she agreed with the ambassador's point.

Anderson shook his head; "This is exactly why the Council doesn't think we're ready. The more I hear, the more I'm starting to agree with them. We're too brazen, too impatient."

Udina was quick to dismiss him; "Unlike the asari, we don't have a thousand years to spend twiddling our thumbs. But this is all academic; since Shepard destroyed the beacon, no one will benefit from it."

Shepard frowned. "I didn't break the beacon, okay? At least I don't think I did... Or, well, I didn't mean to."

"Oh, well, since you didn't _mean_ to break the beacon, Commander; that makes _all_ the difference," Udina's voice dripped with sarcasm. "The entire mission was a catastrophe; inevitably Lieutenant Alenko's biotics were invaluable and the only reason why any of you made it out alive."

"You gotta be kidding me," Ashley muttered, looking to Shepard.

Kaidan had no desire to partake in a competition. "It was a joint effort, sir."

"Modesty won't get you far in this business," Udina advised him.

"With respect, Ambassador," Kaidan changed tack; "you weren't there. When Nihlus split us up, Commander Shepard was forced to assume a command role; I didn't envy her for making the tough decisions. Then we all worked together to survive."

Udina nodded soberly. "Your loyalty to these people – while admirable and touching – is unfortunately misplaced, Lieutenant. Captain Anderson never even wanted you on his crew; the only reason he put you up was because he was ordered to."

Captain Anderson was privately horrified; he couldn't believe that the ambassador had the audacity and cowardice to reveal something so sensitive. It was up to him to diffuse the situation before it became volatile. "You don't actually care about Alenko, Udina; you only care about saving your own backside and keeping your job."

Udina was unperturbed; "Let's not forget, Captain, that your choice of Spectre candidate was based purely on bias. There is nothing remarkable about Shepard's service record. Lieutenant Alenko, on the other hand, graduated with the highest commendations."

"It's not always about medals and winning; it's about temperament and experience." Anderson stopped short; this kind of talk was wasted on the ambassador. "I didn't want to say this in front of these kids, but this is about politics – nothing more."

"It's always about politics," Udina agreed. "Politics are the reason we humans have made great advancements. We've come further than any other species in such a short space of time; we were quick to gain an embassy and we are close to gaining a seat on the Council – when it took the turians two centuries. Politicians are men and women of action while -"

"And this is why I hate politicians," Ashley muttered, rolling her eyes.

Udina scowled at her. "Did you have something to add...? Who _are_ you anyway?"

"Gunnery-Chief Williams," Ash straightened up. "And, yes, actually; I _do_ have something to say. The reason we've made it this far is because of sweat, blood and sacrifice."

"Typical soldiers," Udina flicked his hand at her. "I am constantly amazed that you people are even able to tie shoe laces. You're better than these people," Udina told Kaidan. He looked from Ashley to Shepard to Anderson. "A sell-out, a has-been and a Spectre reject," he sounded disgusted. "These are hardly exemplars for securing the future of humanity – a future where we have harnessed science as a tool to put us on par with the other species. You are going to be a Spectre and no stale N7 past her glory days is going to deprive you of that. Stick with me, Lieutenant, and you'll go far."

Kaidan lowered his gaze. "So I only got this recommendation because I'm a biotic? It was never anything I accomplished on my own merit... It was just because of _what_ I am; not who." He lifted his gaze and saw that everyone was watching him warily; as though afraid that he might erupt at any moment. "My father served in the Alliance, and he was once proud to do so. But then he left. Do you want to know why? When my sister and I were born, he knew that we would never be free from Alliance interference and people who wanted to use us and shape our powers for their own gain. He did everything he could to hide us, but in the end we were found. Alliance tyranny, he called it. My sister and I weren't even considered humans to them." He cast a dejected glance at Shepard and Ashley – his two squadmates from Eden Prime, and his only friends (of sorts) since Jenkins had died. He hadn't got to know them well enough to open up about the personal struggles and complexes he faced as a biotic, but right now they seemed to be the only two people in the galaxy who might be sympathetic to his plight. "I put on this uniform because I thought things might have changed; I want to help our species as much as any other human. But it turns out you're all still only interested in biotics as weapons and tools – not as actual people with feelings and dreams."

Anderson's heart sank. He couldn't deny that he hadn't favoured Alenko from the outset; perhaps he had even been guilty of treating him with a degree of disrespect and suspicion for the simple fact that Udina had placed him on the _Normandy_ against Anderson's wishes. As a captain, he'd let Alenko down.

"Son," Anderson tried to catch his elbow too late; Kaidan wheeled out of the door and disappeared. "I hope you're satisfied," he rounded on Udina. "It wasn't enough that I had to hear from an alien that humanity has opened a case against turian Spectre Saren Arterius. It's funny because I don't remember mentioning Saren anywhere in my report."

"Really? That's...strange. I had the reports from Eden Prime and I acted on them. Thanks to me, C-Sec opened an investigation into Saren's activities; this accusation was sufficient to dredge up previous question marks about his conduct." Udina looked pleased with himself; "Like I always say, Captain: the squeaky wheel gets the grease."

Anderson, however, wasn't so easily taken-in. "What reports?" he frowned; he hadn't been shown any reports from the relief crews and he was certain that he would be the first person to tell if they'd found anything. "I didn't even tell the Council about Saren when I spoke with them from the _Normandy_. My plan was to see you now, get some advice... But instead you've gone behind my back and undermined my rapport with the councillors."

Udina looked unimpressed by his tantrum. "While you've been busy worrying about your reputation with the Council, I've been taking actions that will protect our colonies from further attacks -"

"I could see that," Anderson cut him off. "You were so busy protecting our colonies that you managed to find the time for some lunchtime entertainment with an asari prostitute! Somehow I don't think that'll get implemented as a new security measure to protect our colonies anytime soon."

As ludicrous as their quarrel was, Shepard was mindful of keeping the debate on-track. They were scheduled to meet with the Council and Kaidan had wandered off; someone needed to go after him and talk him round. "There's only one other person who knew about Saren," she interjected; "The same person who told us about Saren's involvement in the first place."

"You mean they found Dr Cayce?" Ashley chimed in.

All eyes were on Udina who folded his arms. "I'm sorry, Captain; I'm only going on what I've been told. There's obviously a reason as to why you've been kept out of the investigation."

"There's no reason good enough," Anderson asserted. He was the one who had been chosen by the Alliance brass to act as a spokesperson to the Council in the first place. It didn't make sense for him to be cut out now.

"Perhaps this is something you should take up with Admiral Hackett."

"Oh I intend to," Anderson agreed gruffly; he wasn't about to take this lying down.

Udina checked his watch. "Tempus fugit. It won't do to keep the Council waiting." He stood up, prompting the three soldiers to head toward the door ahead of him.

"Uh, where do you think you're going, Williams?"

Ash paused in her tracks. "Er...with you guys."

"I don't think so," Udina rebuffed; "You're not one of the Spectre candidates."

"I don't think the Council will mind," said Anderson; "she was part of what happened on Eden Prime."

"No one sees the Council uninvited," Udina ended the discussion.

Captain Anderson sighed heavily and turned to Ashley. "Sorry, Chief; it looks like you're on your own for a while."

"It's all right, sir; I'm sure I'll find something to keep myself occupied. Actually, with your permission, Captain; I'd like to find out about what happened to my unit on Eden Prime."

Anderson nodded; "Good idea." He touched her arm and leaned closer so that she'd be able to hear his voice when he lowered it. "One more thing. Don't forget that we're all ambassadors for the Alliance; as long as we're on the station, people will be watching us and measuring our behaviour."

Ash straightened her uniform. "I understand, sir." She glanced at Shepard. "Good luck with the Council; let me know how it goes."

 

* * *

 

Udina led the way down the steps and informed Saphyria that he was going to be away from his office for the next while.

"Give me a moment," Anderson murmured to Shepard when he spotted Kaidan Alenko who was sitting, alone, on a bench in the reception area. "We'll catch up with you."

Shepard matched his gaze and nodded. "Good luck."

Anderson stole a covert glance at Udina. "You too."

Shepard smiled and watched him saunter up to the bench.

Kaidan didn't look up when a shadow fell over him.

"Mind if I join you?" Anderson ventured. He lowered himself onto his hands when Kaidan made a wordless gesture of assent. "I owe you a personal apology." He paused, waiting to see whether or not the lieutenant was willing to hear him out. Apparently he was. "I've never been much of a people person. Sometimes I neglect to see the things that are right in front of me – it's one of the reasons I'm divorced." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "What I'm trying to say is; I never really gave you a fair chance. It's all-too-easy to cling to what we know and fear that which we don't understand. Look around at this place. We're way out of our depth out here; God knows we've bitten off more than we can chew, and we've made more than our fair share of mistakes. But we're trying our best, and that's all we can really do at the end of the day. As much as I like to think that the Alliance is the good guys; the reality is that there are two sides to everything. Good and evil exist side-by-side. There are some assholes out there."

"Yes there are," Kaidan agreed.

Anderson smiled. "Hopefully I'm not one of them." He paused and turned more serious. "I didn't know about your father and what your family went through. You mentioned a sister – what happened to her?"

"She's doing fine now; she works at Grissom Academy as a biotics tutor."

"Grissom?" Anderson echoed, reminded of something from his past. "I know someone who works there too." Kahlee Sanders, the undisclosed daughter of Jon Grissom himself. He paused for a moment, thinking how strange it was that Saren and Kahlee were cropping up in his life again roughly twenty years after he'd first met them. The universe seemed to work in mysterious cycles, eventually coming full-circle. "Hmm."

Kaidan read into his pensive expression. "Someone special, sir?"

"What?" Anderson was genuinely confused for a moment. "Oh, er..." _Maybe._ "No. I was just thinking about the mess we've gotten ourselves into...and what I would do if I was forced to retire tomorrow."

"You really think it's going to come to that?" Kaidan sniffed. "I guess I have no other purpose if I don't make it as a Spectre."

"That's not true, Lieutenant; I need someone like you on my crew – and before you say it; no, you won't be my token biotic. You've got a good head on your shoulders and you've proved that you can more than hold your own in combat. Biotics don't have a particularly good reputation among the greater public. That said; the rest of us don't try to understand the struggles you people face. I guess both groups are at odds with one another, but that doesn't mean we have to be. This is all a learning curve for me," he admitted. "I hope that we can teach one another what it's like on the other side of the fence." He paused and extended his hand. "I'm willing to keep an open mind if you are."

Kaidan looked at him and smiled; "Deal." He shook his hand. "Thank you, Captain."

Anderson clapped his shoulder and stood up. "Of course, that's all assuming we still have jobs at the end of this mess."

 

* * *

 

**In a restricted area elsewhere on the Citadel**

Asari Spectre Tela Vasir wasn't accustomed to so much drama on the Citadel, all on the same day. Even though she had been allocated accommodation on the Presidium as a benefit of working for the Council, Vasir spent the majority of her time down in the Wards where she could get her kicks and thrills. Aside from Chora's Den, the other clubs were decidedly tame and bland; yet, surprisingly, a Keeper lair wasn't on her bar-crawl list.

Usually C-Sec could handle everything on the Citadel; the fact that a Spectre had been called in proved just how serious the situation was. The Keepers also warranted the highest security clearance – and it was no coincidence that she, as an asari, had been called in over the other few Spectres currently taking leave on the station.

Spectres typically had to come equipped with unique skill sets that would enable them to single-handedly accomplish feats that would otherwise require the muscle and quantity of an entire army. While asari were not as physically robust as species such as the krogan, turians or even the humans; their proficiency with pre-emptive tactics such as infiltration, ambushes and assassination made them excellent Spectres rather than infantry soldiers.

The Council had created the branch of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance amidst concerns that the krogan were expanding at an alarming rate and may pose a threat to other species. As the 'first race', asari huntresses had been chosen as the first Spectres and had played a key role in the ensuing Krogan Rebellions from 700 CE onwards. At such a turbulent time for galactic stability, those asari summoned for duty had willingly accepted.

In modern times, priorities had shifted. The Asari Republics had all but eliminated internal warfare a long time ago. Huntresses had hung up their armour in favour of new pursuits – namely the new age of learning. This had all happened when the asari had encountered other species; they had developed a thirst for intellectual and culture enlightenment. Now the asari were a race of diplomats, scientists, scholars and civil servants. The commandos that existed within the Republics were mainly there to entertain tradition and to double up as community police officers when they were required (which was rare). Even though Spectrehood was a great honour; two individuals had refused the calling during the last one thousand years – and they had both been asari Matriarchs.

Compared to the likes of Saren Arterius, Tela Vasir was a nobody. She couldn't say that she was the granddaughter of a decorated asari Spectre from the Krogan Rebellions; she couldn't say that serving for the greater good of the galaxy ran in her blood; she couldn't even say that she had chosen her line of work. In fact, her line of work had found her – as was the case with so many Spectres. Contrary to popular civilian ideals about Spectres being born for the prestigious role; the truth was actually less noble. More often than not, Spectres were ex military operatives who had retired for a very good reason – usually because they had broken the rules and got caught. For them, the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance was a safe haven; the Council specifically looked to recruit agents who wouldn't lose sleep over doing morally-challenging jobs.

Vasir had found that Spectrehood had fit her like a cosy glove. Of course it was also her way of reforming; it wasn't that long ago that she'd been an arms-smuggler, drug-trafficker and all-round bounty hunter in the lawless Terminus Systems. It wasn't so much that she'd had an epiphany about realising the error of her criminal ways as much as the fact that she'd amassed a lot of heat. Between dying and getting in bed with the law, Vasir had chosen the latter.

The Council didn't, of course, hire people who would be likely to turn traitor on them – they had strict entrance exams and conducted numerous investigations and interviews.

Vasir had worked her ass off to earn the Council's trust; it was ironic that she cared more about the Council's opinion of her when she'd never cared about anyone but herself before. She'd never known her parents, and the Council had sort of filled a mentoring role – in the loosest sense possible. Vasir wasn't about to admit to something as pathetically soppy as the fact that the Council had taken her in, reformed her and now she owed them a debt that she would likely spend the rest of her centuries paying off. Of course they appreciated her networks from her former decadent life; the Council was thoroughly unwelcome in the Terminus Systems, hence why Vasir had proved to be a useful mole – or rat, to be more accurate. Vasir was hated more than she was loved, but she had no problems being the Council's token rat – especially with all the frills and benefits. In the back of her mind, however, she knew that one day her luck would run out and she would be caught in the Terminus Systems, surrounded by those she had betrayed.

In any case, she'd graduated her extended probation period with distinction and had been granted the title and privileges of a Council Spectre. The road of self-improvement was a long one, but being a Spectre was the one good thing that she had going for her – and she was determined not to mess it up. If it meant bending over backwards to prove herself to the Council, she would do it – if only to keep the Council from looking over her shoulder. Different Spectres used different tactics; usually the most expedient way to accomplish their mission. Vasir, however, had found herself resorting to other unorthodox methods. She found that superior intelligence was key to making her job easier; she liked to carry out long-term reconnaissance and gather as much information on her mission as possible before making the final move. It wasn't uncommon for her to prepare diligently for several months in advance, and then to fulfil her plans in the final hour of her stint. Of course, it was all dependent on how much time there was. Asari couldn't run into a room all-guns-blazing, soak up a storm of fire and still be left standing at the end like a krogan could; but the one crucial advantage that they held over most other species was time.

Unfortunately time wasn't always in copious supply.

The two specialists assigned to the case weren't on C-Sec's payroll. Hiring independent workers was effectively giving Vasir permission to silence them permanently should the need arise, but only as a last resort. Executor Pallin certainly wouldn't abide a Spectre taking out his officers, no matter the reason. Vasir had a certain degree of immunity because the Council had contracted her specifically for her unapologetically lax ethics. The councillors had never deigned to thoroughly investigate a Spectre's conduct when they achieved results – which was precisely Vasir's job. Nevertheless she knew that the Council wouldn't appreciate a domestic incident with C-Sec, and so she made a mental note to be on her best behaviour.

Vasir was first greeted by a waist-high life form in a pressure suit with breathing apparatus – a member of the volus species.

Not only were the volus the third race to post an embassy on the Citadel after the asari and salarians in 200 BCE; but they were also a client race of the Turian Hierarchy. Like every species, the volus had certain talents and shortcomings. They were gifted in the arts of trade and commerce and had even devised the Unified Banking Act which had introduced a standard currency for interstellar exchange, the credit. This, in turn, had helped to establish a balanced galactic market. On the other hand, they were not at all physically adept and lacked a militaristic nature.

Although the volus had a long history on the Citadel and had done the galactic community a great service, they had never been offered a position on the Council for the simple reason that the volus were not able to supply troops, fleets, assets and financial support in times of disaster – all of which the Council demanded from a Council member.

Some would say that over two thousand years was a long time to hold a grudge, but the volus had done just that. They also hadn't given up hope of one day achieving Council status.

Still, the volus's resentment toward what they called 'favoured clans' sometimes made them tough customers to deal with. As if Vasir didn't have enough on her plate without playing nice.

"Greetings, Thessia-clan," the volus welcomed her before inhaling deeply.

Due to the volus's tribal roots, they tended to address individuals of other species by that race's planet of origin rather than the individual's actual name. Vasir found it more than a little condescending, but she held her tongue. _Pleasant thoughts_ , she reminded herself; _Pleasant thoughts..._

"My name is Jahleed. This is my associate, Chorban."

Vasir caught the way the salarian smiled nervously at her. "Yeah, yeah – pleased to meet you, and all that jazz. I assume you know why you're here."

"Yes," Chorban nodded; "We're the foremost experts on the Keepers."

"Experts?" Vasir chuckled. "On a bunch of mute aliens who haven't shown any ability of communicating whatsoever. _Right_ ," she folded her arms; "I'll just have to take your word for it."

Chorban and Jahleed exchanged a nervous glance.

Vasir sighed heavily and reviewed the facts. "All right. We've got fried Keepers and a quarian kebab. Can you run an autopsy on this poor sucker to determine the cause of death?" A dead quarian vagrant wasn't worth her time, but the potential involvement of the Keepers was.

"Do krogan snore?" Chorban answered.

Vasir blinked, genuinely perplexed. "What?"

"Duh."

"Uh, what my colleague means is that he _can_ run an autopsy," Jahleed spoke surprisingly quickly for his species, even forgoing breaths so that he could appease the Spectre before she could scold them.

"Uh-huh." Vasir settled on a frown. "Just let me know when you've got something." She reached into the pouch on her belt and drew out an energy bar. Peeling back the foil, she took a bite and made an appreciative noise.

Chorban looked up at her in incredulity. "How can you eat at a time and place like _this_?" He gestured at the desiccated corpse to prove his point.

Seemingly indifferent, Vasir chewed her current mouthful and swallowed. "Hey, it's not my fault that every time I've tried to grab a bite to eat today, something urgent has come up. I'm starving." She chewed off another chunk and offered him the remainder in the wrapper. "Want some?"

"Gods, no; are you trying to make me sick?"

Vasir chuckled and consumed the rest of her snack.

Chorban looked to his colleague. "How can you expect me to focus like this?"

"Shut up and get to work," Jahleed jabbed his arm; "or we don't get paid."

Sighing heavily, the salarian scientist passed his omni-tool interface over the scorched body. "Well, I know they don't look pretty, but this quarian was already dead before sustaining the burns. It looks like they died from multiple gunshots – one to the stomach and one to the head."

"Gunshots?" Vasir echoed, suddenly paying attention. "Last time I checked, the Keepers don't have guns – I doubt they'd even know how to fire one." She paused. "Of course I don't claim to be the _expert_ here. Can you pull the bullets and run some tests?"

Jahleed breathed deeply and looked up at her. "We'll get right on it, but it will take time."

Vasir turned away to contemplate the rest of the scene. "What was the quarian even doing in here?"

"Why don't you ask them?" Chorban muttered sarcastically.

"Maybe they were trying to sabotage the Citadel?" Jahleed offered.

"What a pointless waste of time," Chorban shook his head. "Everyone knows that Keepers' areas are governed by strict control systems that automatically eradicate foreign contaminants – in this case, us – upon detection. It's the reason why we slap big 'Warning, danger!' and 'Keep Out' posters on the doors. Fortunately for us, this place is inoperative after the recent purge."

Vasir considered his words. The Citadel had rules and regulations protecting the functions of the Keepers; to interfere with them in any way was severely punished. "So either the quarian was stupid or they were desperate – probably trying to get away from whoever shot them."

"I'd say both," Chorban agreed. "Speaking of which, these bullets are standard-issue C-Sec calibre."

Vasir turned around. "That was quick."

"Please, even a senile -" Chorban fell short of his intended sentence and sighed; "Never mind. What I mean is: I could do this in my sleep."

 _I wish you would, if it would only shut you up,_ thought Vasir. Unfortunately one hour of silence a day from a salarian hardly qualified as mercy. "I don't get it. The only people authorised to carry weapons on the Citadel are Spectres and C-Sec personnel. C-Sec reported the disturbance but they didn't claim the homicide. Something else is going on here..."

Jahleed bobbed at her elbow. "What about the Keepers, Thessia-clan?"

Vasir shrugged. "Leave them. They might collect their dead; either way we shouldn't interfere."

"Hmmm." Chorban was still poring over the quarian's charred body. "I think I've got something here – the omni-tool's last function. Apparently a data transmission was sent."

Vasir was amazed that the omni-tool had fared better than its owner. "Can you get me a recipient?"

"No," Chorban replied simply.

"What, that's it?" Vasir rolled her hands. "Give me something to work with here."

"There isn't much left to work with," Chorban pointed out.

"He'll do what he can," Jahleed assured the Spectre, fearful of what she would do to them if they let her down. He took a deep, harrowing breath. "Won't you, Chorban?"

The salarian muttered indistinctly to himself while he worked. "Hello, what's this? Whatever was sent deleted the archive copy from the host, but I've found something else in the data banks."

Vasir crouched down beside him. "Let's see it."

"It's not my fault that it's badly corrupted," he reminded her; "It's a miracle that this much survived incineration -"

"Just play the damn file already," she growled. "You're not getting any younger."

The file was so badly corrupted that only snippets of dialogue accompanied a heavily degraded hologram.

" _\- Know we haven't always seen eye to eye...something I have...regretted...perhaps in time...change...your mother...proud of you...important journey...be careful, Tali...Keelah se'lai."_

The asari Spectre rose to her feet and folded her arms. "That was cute," she remarked sarcastically, "but a complete waste of time."

"Maybe not," Jahleed inhaled. "Perhaps this quarian's name was Tali."

"Oh, well, I stand corrected – it was just the breakthrough we were looking for. Damn it." She turned away and glanced around the dimly-lit chamber. "The bigger question is: where is the perp who shot the quarian? You guys are telling me that we've got a murderer running around the Citadel."

The Citadel prided itself on being clean, safe and free from crime. Even with C-Sec's strict immigration processing, the reality was that some things slipped through the cracks – helped along, of course, by bribing the right people. The Wards weren't as safe as the glamour vids would paint them; there were all kinds of degenerates from thieves, thugs, mercenaries and the odd retired warlord. Unlike the Council, Vasir wasn't under the delusion that corruption didn't run deep into the Citadel's conduits. _It takes one to know one._

"Which means I need to be _out there_."

"Where are you going?" Jahleed waddled after her. "You said it yourself; there's a murderer on the loose." He drew in a short, fretful breath. "We need your protection."

"Exactly," Vasir checked that her handgun was set to stun. As a Spectre, she got to tailor her personal arsenal to her preferences; her weapon was much more civilised compared with C-Sec's cruder, turian-manufactured weapons. "The best way for me to protect you and every other citizen is to do my job and apprehend the bad guy. That's what I get paid for."

Chorban stood up and stepped up to his companion. "Let her go off and play the hero; we've still got work to do here."

Jahleed looked up at him. "Yes...work. You're right."

"Knock yourselves out," Vasir was already halfway toward the exit. "And, remember: no scanning the Keepers' remains."

"But they're dead. Surely a little -"

Vasir stopped in her tracks and turned back, towering over both the salarian and the volus. "I said no. What part of that did you not understand?"

Chorban tapped his fingers together. "Nothing – I mean we understood everything."

"Good," the Spectre fixed him with a piercing glare to show him she meant business. "You know what'll happen if you go scanning where you ought not to. Either the Keepers will come after you or I will; it's your choice."

Jahleed inhaled sharply. "No scanning. Understood."

Vasir lingered a few moments longer before she was entirely satisfied that the pair of scientists were harmless. She should've known that they wouldn't bother to heed her warnings.

 

* * *

 

**Presidium Tower, en route to Council Chambers**

Like Kaidan, Shepard was awed by their surroundings while Ambassador Udina and Captain Anderson went on ahead, bickering between themselves. She'd got bored of the epic scenery half way up the elevator ride (made worse by the fact that Anderson and Udina had been arguing like an old married couple for a good portion of the journey), but the peak of the tower was unlike anything she'd ever imagined.

"This place is amazing," Kaidan marvelled for what must've been the third time.

"Yeah," Shepard couldn't help but agree. The summit of the tower was one gigantic, open-plan space. The entire hall was lined with smaller chambers and offices on either side while autumn-coloured trees adorned the pathways. There was a large, prominent water feature in the centre of the foyer, around which diplomats in dress robes and suits were engaged in hushed conversations about all the latest shifts in the political climate. Shepard had to crane her neck to look up at the tall ceiling where there were panels of stained glass, allowing lots of natural light from the purple nebula to flood inside and bathe the sterile white walls in a dusky, warm glow. All in all, it felt much more lethargic compared to the bright white energy and pristine opulence on the Presidium. It was as though the darker lighting were a swirling veil to keep everything shrouded in secrecy.

"And it's said to be an authentic facsimile of Prothean architecture," Kaidan sounded almost like a tour guide.

Shepard considered his words. "The Protheans have been dead for fifty thousand years; how can anyone alive today say what is authentic Prothean style?"

"I don't know," Kaidan answered thoughtfully; "I suppose the asari found the station like this."

"At least they replaced the dead plants."

The two Alliance officers quickened their pace when they realised that the captain and the ambassador had disappeared deeper into the hall without them. Shepard didn't want to get lost; she was already regretting the heady meal she'd had on the _Normandy_ before they'd arrived. From the way Kaidan had paled, she was willing to bet that he had similar misgivings.

As they crossed the large open hall, creating echoes from their footsteps, Shepard couldn't help but feel as though she were in a library where noise was forbidden. If people needed to communicate, they leaned to one another and spoke in whispers – any other sound was frowned upon. And even though she was dressed to impress in her formal uniform, she was attracting a lot of suspicious stares. Either the ambassadors weren't used to military personnel or they weren't used to seeing two humans striding purposefully among them, on their way to meet with their Council.

The atmosphere was so quiet and cagey that raised voices stuck out like a sore thumb.

Up ahead was a pair of quarrelling turians. One was dressed in the blue and black garb of C-Sec while the other had numerous colours and ribbons pinned to his carapace.

"You weren't supposed to even be on this case in the first place," the latter turian – the superior – growled.

"I know, sir, but I think I have something important. I just need a little more time. If you could stall the Council -"

"Stall the Council?" the other echoed, snorting. "Do you have _any idea_ what you're asking? You don't get to make demands of me, Vakarian. It's over; take the rest of the day off and go home."

"But, Executor Pallin, sir, with all due respect -"

"Or would you prefer to hand me your badge?"

The turian named Vakarian bit back his protests. "No, sir."

Executor Pallin's eyes flashed. "If you _ever_ attempt to circumvent my authority again, you'll be off the Force faster than you can say 'Spirits'. Is that clear, Vakarian?"

The subordinate C-Sec officer nodded. "Abundantly, sir."

"I hope so." The Executor studied him with a critical expression. "Your department supervisor will be hearing about this. Just be grateful that it's not your father. You're dismissed."

He turned and marched off, leaving the downtrodden junior officer to ponder his future.

Seeing her opening, Shepard stepped up behind him and cleared her throat. "Excuse me."

Vakarian turned around and sighed heavily. "Sorry, I'm officially off-duty; you'll have to take your concerns elsewhere."

"Actually, I hope you don't mind, but we just overheard your conversation. You're working on the case against Saren?"

"You mean I was," the turian corrected. Suddenly he seemed to look at them in a new light. "Wait a minute...you're from the Alliance ship, _Normandy_ , aren't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Shepard smiled faintly. "I'm the ship's XO, Commander Shepard."

"Officer Garrus Vakarian," the turian introduced himself. "And you must be Lieutenant Alenko," he nodded at Kaidan. "I wish I had better news for the both of you. As a Spectre, Saren is practically untouchable; we can't make any of the charges against him stick. Even if we could, everyone in C-Sec knows that the Council would be more likely to acquit him. The Council handpicks every Spectre agent; the councillors don't want to face the fact that someone they've interviewed and chosen could abuse their trust and betray them. If Saren really is a traitor, then the Council is as guilty as he is because they gave him the power he has and the authority to abuse it. They don't want to admit that they made a mistake – and they especially don't want it to become public knowledge."

"Saren's dangerous," Shepard pointed out. "Surely the Council won't just sit back and let him wreak havoc."

"They'll only act if there's some pretty compelling proof," Garrus folded his arms; "The thing is, I think I have a potential lead; I just needed more time to follow it up. Now I've been removed from the case..."

Kaidan considered his words. "So you believe that Saren's corrupt?"

"It's no secret that Spectres play fast and loose; they think they're above the law. They're wrong. Saren's got away with too much; someone needs to shut him down and bring him to justice." Garrus sighed heavily. "It won't be me. I guess it's up to you now – you could be our last hope to make the Council see the truth."

"No pressure," Kaidan muttered to Shepard.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Can you tell us about this potential lead?"

"That would be a serious violation of protocol," Garrus sounded shocked that they could even ask such a thing. "Executor Pallin is already dangerously close to getting my badge." He shrugged; "It's probably nothing anyway."

Shepard wasn't prepared to walk away empty-handed. "Any last-minute advice you can give us about the Council?"

Garrus's mandibles flared as he gave a chuckle. "I'm just a humble C-Sec lackey, Commander; those kinds of answers are way above my pay grade." He checked the vicinity to make sure that they were out of earshot from anyone else. "All right, but you didn't hear this from me. Councillor Sparatus is tough but not unreasonable. Councillor Valern is harmless; he prefers to err on the side of caution and play it safe. I still think Councillor Tevos is your best bet; when she's not sitting on the fence, she likes to protect the underdog. She'll be more willing to listen to you than the others will. Use that, if you can."

Shepard nodded. "Thanks."

"You'd better go," Garrus told them; "I could do without shouldering the blame for making you late. Good luck in there – you're going to need it."

Luck – there was that entity again.

 

* * *

 

Kaidan appreciated the rare honour of meeting the Council face-to-face as opposed to seeing them in a news vid. Due to the strict regulations prohibiting filming in the Council chambers apart from the assembly hall itself; there was a lot of fluff in the vids from reporters who would paint a picture that any story involving footage in the Presidium Tower marked the high point of their careers.

The Council was, without a shadow of a doubt, the Citadel's main feature. With all their power and the extensive influence they wielded over the wider galactic community that encompassed trillions of citizens, it was hard not to envisage the Citadel councillors as regal, arresting, immortal figures. By default they had celebrity status and wore expensive clothes befitting sovereigns; and yet, at the end of the day, they had imperfections like any other ordinary citizen; they weren't particularly beautiful, physically stalwart or in possession of supernatural talents.

Of course no one could dispute the respect and admiration they deserved for the job they did; they had been chosen to represent a staggering demographic and to make profound decisions affecting both the present and the future. They were as burdened as they were privileged; as vulnerable as they were powerful.

Seeing them in person seemed to validate their existence, and because they were within reach; they were mortal, _real_.

The three Citadel councillors took their pedestals, one by one. Standing in the centre, Councillor Tevos cleared her throat.

"Council is now in session. We recognise the panel of humanity's representatives." The asari lowered her gaze to survey the human entourage. "Per Ambassador Udina's request, we invite Spectre Saren Arterius to answer the accusations against him."

Taking his cue, the salarian councillor, Valern, activated his omni-tool and typed in a command which caused a large hologram to appear on a pedestal to the side of the stage where there was undoubtedly a set of holographic projectors.

"Please confirm that you are receiving us," Valern checked.

" _I am,"_ Saren answered, lifting his head.

Shepard stared at him; this was the first time that she'd seen him. She didn't know quite what she'd been expecting after the things she'd heard from Nihlus Kryik, Dr Manuel Cayce and Captain Anderson. Nihlus had described him with admiration; Manuel with fear; and Anderson with criticism. One thing she knew for certain was that the turian Spectre commanded respect; clearly he was someone with power and authority. He didn't, however, look particularly remarkable – especially since humans were notorious for being unable to distinguish one specimen from another.

After the Unification War, turians had marked themselves with tattoos representing their colonies. Shepard saw that Councillor Sparatus had very similar markings to Nihlus, suggesting that they originated from the same colony. Saren, however, was a different story. Shepard didn't claim to be an expert on turian culture, but she'd heard the term 'barefaced' used with negative connotations attached to it. The fact that Saren was literally barefaced and didn't have any colony markings gave Shepard a bad vibe. Perhaps he was an exile or a criminal. _Or worse_.

Manuel may have claimed that Saren was some sort of prophet, but even if Saren was as unhinged as the human scientist; something about the way he carried himself boldly and exuded a sense of fearlessness, infallibility...it was as though he truly _believed_ it.

 _How_ the Spectre had gone down this path wasn't exactly a mystery; it was only a matter of gaining the means to accomplish a task – in this case; power, wealth and an army. It was the _why_ that interested Shepard. Saren was a living legend; he was successful, respected, admired and feared all at the same time. Why jeopardise his career and his good standing with the Council? What could be more important than those things? Was it possible that Saren had become a victim of his own successes as a Spectre? Power was like a drug – ensnaring, addictive, intoxicating, and oh-so-gratifying...until you realised that you had become a slave to its bidding (by which time it was usually too late).

Everything on Eden Prime had baffled Shepard – the fires, the human husks, the geth, the beacon, the vision... She knew that it wasn't as cut-and-dry as Anderson and Udina wanted to believe; Saren hadn't razed the colony because of his hatred toward humanity. His motives were much more complex than one-dimensional hatred or courting power; Eden Prime had been part of his plans for something more. Thus far everyone had construed that Saren was to make war on the galaxy with his vast armies of geth. Knowledge gleaned from the beacon had probably helped him to that end; assuming – as the others had – that the beacon contained advanced technologies schematics – namely weapons and anything else that could be used as a tool of death.

Before Shepard could get caught staring too long and hard at Saren, the Council was ready to conduct the hearing.

Councillor Tevos clasped her hands together. "We have convened today so that the Human Systems Alliance can submit a petition against Saren Arterius. If found guilty, the defendant is to be discharged from the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Further penalties may also be incurred depending on the severity of the crimes. The Council will consider all statements and evidence presented before ruling. We will adjudicate with impartiality and fairness."

Shepard didn't say what her fellow humans must've been thinking. They were supposed to just take the Council's word on its good faith, were they? Saren was their Spectre – of course they were subject to some sort of bias.

"For the record," Councillor Valern took over; "the charges against Spectre Arterius are as follows: collaboration with the geth to attack and destroy a human colony; in this case Eden Prime." He paused to let the statement sink in before moving on to the next charge. "Future intent to attack and destroy human colonies out of malice and contempt for the general human species."

Councillor Sparatus lifted his head. "Saren, these are serious allegations. What say you to all this?"

The turian Spectre growled in affront. _"I resent these accusations, Councillors. In fact I am insulted that my record does not speak for itself; I have been a loyal servant of this Council and its values for twenty-four years; I have put my life at risk on numerous occasions in an effort to protect innocent lives hailing from several species. Those are not the actions of a xenophobe."_ He paused for full effect of his words. _"As for Eden Prime, I was nowhere near the planet at the time of the incident. I regret that I lost a fellow Spectre there; Nihlus Kryik was both my former student and a friend -"_

"That just let you catch him off-guard," Anderson blurted, unable to contain himself.

Saren lowered his beady eyes to him. _"Captain Anderson. You always seem to be involved whenever humanity makes false accusations against me."_

Anderson bristled in contempt; he considered it a personal victory that he managed to bite back a string of offensive remarks. After all, the Council was watching...

Saren smirked, wordlessly applauding his restraint. He let his eyes fall slightly and centred on Commander Shepard herself. _"And this must be your protégée, Commander Shepard – the one who instigated the death of a Spectre and destroyed a priceless Prothean artefact."_

Shepard's stomach squirmed in horror. "I didn't," she blurted. She was almost afraid to look upon the great Citadel Council, but she was also desperate for them to believe her innocence (she didn't want to suffer the consequences if they didn't). "Well maybe I... Nihlus gave me an order and I disobeyed it. At the time I thought I had no other choice... But the truth is, I...I probably gave his position away -"

"Shepard," Anderson growled, grabbing her arm; "Do us both a favour and shut up."

Shepard grimaced inwardly; it was times like these where she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Today it seemed she wouldn't be granted such mercies. "Sorry, sir; I was just..."

" _She even admits her guilt,"_ Saren remarked, coldly impressed. _"Acting with reckless abandon seems to get humanity into trouble more often than not. Your species must learn its place."_

"Where would that be?" Ambassador Udina challenged him. "Humanity is a species to be reckoned with. We have made great gains in a very short space of time; we have a powerful military force; we've settled new worlds; we even have biotics -"

" _But do you have the wisdom to utilise them all effectively? Humanity hasn't earned any of those achievements; you have been uplifted by others, profiting from knowledge already accumulated by species that have inhabited this galactic society far longer than you. It was Prothean technology that gave rise to your FTL capabilities; it was asari economy that has provided you trade opportunities and financial aid, as well as medical advances that have helped your species' longevity; it was salarian intelligence that has bolstered the network of your military and given you new scientific breakthroughs; it was even turian engineering that helped build your new ship."_

Anderson frowned. "How do you know about that?"

" _With Nihlus gone, his files passed to me."_

"He hasn't been dead that long."

Saren held his gaze and narrowed his eyes into menacing slits. _"My point was that you have been given all the benefits you now possess. That does not mean that you deserve them. Knowledge and power must be earned."_

"We're fast-learners," Shepard offered.

Saren turned his gaze to her. _"Really? History would seem to contradict you, Commander. This attack on Eden Prime is not the first time a human colony has been assaulted. I believe you were there on Elysium some years ago when pirates invaded. A hard-learned lesson – but a lesson nonetheless – that it is foolish and irresponsible to colonise worlds in unsafe territories."_ He paused. _"The devastation of Eden Prime – while tragic, of course – does not come as a great surprise."_

"Are you saying it's our fault?" Kaidan voiced his disbelief.

Udina was equally outraged. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that by the time we arrived, the frontier was already settled. We get the scraps of whatever is leftover – and they are discarded by your species for a very good reason! I say that we should be given extra protection."

" _Making demands of the Council,"_ Saren disapproved. _"It was the Alliance's negligence that got Eden Prime destroyed. I say let them suffer the consequences and learn from their mistakes. This is not even the first time a human colony has come under attack from pirates,"_ Saren fixed his piercing gaze on Shepard; _"Elysium was also attacked some years ago."_

"Pirates are one thing," Anderson acknowledged; "but geth? No one could have prepared for this."

" _Or perhaps they could."_ There was a smug glint in Saren's holographic eyes. _"Need I remind you about the incident twenty years ago, Captain, whereby the Alliance was found guilty of conducting illegal AI research?"_

"Objection!" Udina cried. "That matter was resolved twenty years ago -"

Tevos raised her hand to silence him. "Overruled. As you know, we take AI research very seriously. If these two incidents are related in any way..."

" _I'm sorry to say this, Councillors, but I believe that the Alliance has pulled the wool over our eyes. It seems to me that they activated the beacon, took the information for themselves and then destroyed it so that no one else could have it. The geth provided a convenient distraction for you from the truth."_

Now it was Anderson's turn to get angry. "Have you seen the reports for yourself? Have you seen the destruction, the dead bodies? Humanity places a high value on an individual life; we're not capable of the genocide you're suggesting."

Saren folded his arms. _"Again, your species' record suggests otherwise. I happen to know something about Terran history; I studied the holocaust event that took place during one of your global wars. A sad tale, but it proves that humans are capable of unprecedented hatred and atrocity toward one another."_

Shepard felt disdain rise up in her gut; she could fully understand the captain's loathing for this particular turian Spectre. "The beacon was glowing when we found it," she admitted to the Council. "It had already been activated – but not by us."

Tevos shared a glance with her fellow councillors. "I am inclined to agree with Commander Shepard. To our current knowledge, the Alliance does not possess the ability of activating a Prothean beacon."

"So the _Normandy_ 's ground team did _not_ act alone," Councillor Valern concluded.

Saren gave a jaded sigh. _"The humans must have forced Nihlus by gunpoint to activate the beacon. Then they executed him in cold blood."_

"That's complete garbage, and you know it!" Shepard retorted. "There's a witness who saw you shoot Nihlus in the back."

"The word of one traumatised survivor is hardly compelling proof," Valern remarked.

"Besides," Sparatus chimed in; "where is this witness? Why haven't you presented them to us?"

Anderson wanted to know the same thing, and he fully intended to speak with Admiral Hackett when this whitewash was over.

Saren chuckled coldly. _"Putting the blame on others_ ," he addressed Shepard. _"I see that Captain Anderson has taught you well."_

Anderson had to catch Shepard's elbow to stop her from doing or saying something she might regret. "You haven't changed," he murmured, slowly looking up at the holographic version of Saren. "I know what you did on Camala and I know what you did on Eden Prime."

Saren's mandibles clicked as he held the human's gaze, silently goading him. _"Councillors, my final testament is this: the accusations against me are ridiculous and unfounded; the Alliance has yet to provide any kind of evidence. They are wasting your time and mine."_

Valern nodded at Tevos, as did Sparatus. "Ambassador," the asari folded her arms; "is there anything further that you would like to add?"

"What about C-Sec's report?"

"Inconclusive," Sparatus intoned.

Udina's shoulders sagged in submission. "In that case -"

"Wait," Anderson cut across him. He turned to Shepard; "Commander?"

Shepard froze under the sudden brunt of attention directed at her. "Sir?"

"Tell them about your vision," Anderson spoke quietly.

Shepard did a double take. "You mean...now, sir?"

Anderson jerked his head.

"What are you up to, Captain?" Udina hissed.

"The Council recognises Lieutenant-Commander Shepard," Valern announced, sparing Anderson from explaining just how desperate he was.

"Step forward," Councillor Tevos encouraged her.

Shepard instinctively looked to Anderson and Kaidan for another lifeline, but neither spoke up on her behalf. She gulped and took a small step forwards, doing her utmost not to sweat under the weight of the turian Spectre's probing gaze. "I, um...I came into contact with the beacon on Eden Prime. It showed me something...a vision of some kind."

" _Are we allowing dreams as evidence now?"_ Saren sneered. _"How can I possibly defend myself against such folly?"_

"I'm afraid I have to concur," Councillor Valern folded his arms. "This case is sounding more and more desperate."

Sparatus nodded his agreement; "The Alliance _is_ desperate."

"Objection!" Udina barked.

"Sustained," Tevos settled. She glanced at her turian colleague; "We are not here to pass such judgment on our diplomatic allies. Let us return to the matter at hand; we recognise the commander's right to address this Council and should therefore listen to what she has to say." She returned her olive green eyes to Shepard. "Please continue."

Shepard gawped at her; she didn't know what else to say – she'd hoped that the vision itself would be self-explanatory. Rather than look to Anderson and Kaidan for direction, she found herself looking up at Saren and wondering if he had accessed the vision before her. The beacon had been left behind, meaning that it had expended its usefulness to him. Try as she might to read him, Saren gave nothing away. Shepard was out of options...

"I'm not really sure what I saw, Councillors. I mean...it wasn't clear, just..."

Anderson's chest rapidly deflated; he was grateful when the asari councillor decided to spare them further humiliation.

"Very well." Tevos's gaze lingered on Shepard for a few moments longer before she entered her vote onto her omni-tool. Shepard's heart skipped a beat. What was that look? – What had it meant? She was sure it must've meant something; perhaps her vision wasn't so farfetched after all... Tevos had looked expectant, even prepared to give her a chance to come clean. Maybe she _knew_ what Shepard was talking about. But before Shepard could realise all this, the moment of opportunity had come and gone.

After a few seconds, the votes had been collected and counted.

The asari looked up. "The accusers have not presented us with sufficient evidence to convict. Ambassador, Captain; your petition to disbar Saren Arterius from the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance is denied. This hearing is hereby concluded. Saren, you may now disconnect. Go in peace."

Shepard couldn't bear to see the look of triumph upon the Spectre's face; he had both defeated and humiliated them. Whatever respectable standing they may have had at the beginning had now been crippled beyond repair, and it was all because she had screwed up.

" _I'm glad to see that justice still reigns."_ Saren cast one final glance over them, cementing his superiority over them. Then the hologram flickered out, leaving the ghost of Saren's sanctimonious satisfaction in the empty air.

"Wait," Anderson stepped past Shepard. "It can't end this way. It isn't fair. I had no idea that an investigation had been formally opened; this was sprung on us when we landed -"

Sparatus didn't look amused. "It is not our fault that you were not fully prepared for this meeting. It is something you should've worked out between yourselves instead of wasting our time and diminishing your credibility in the process. I believe that you humans have a saying about 'crying wolf'. We grow weary of your incessant empty claims; this Council does not exist to entertain your every grievance, and unless you desist..."

Tevos touched his arm. "I think they understand," she murmured quietly; "I would like to think that we can maintain an air of civility here."

Sparatus gave a low growl and barely nodded.

Tevos faced the front and raised her voice to them; "Captain, we have done as you asked and given you ample opportunity to prove that humanity is not as young and naive as it was twenty years ago. We believed that your request for a second chance was sincere."

Anderson couldn't help but feel ashamed that the Council was clearly disappointed in him and doubted his integrity. "It was, Councillor," he held her gaze unwaveringly to prove his point.

"And yet you managed to fail the task we set you in every way possible," Sparatus shook his head. "Perhaps it _is_ our fault; we went against our better judgment by allowing the Alliance to go when we should have assigned a Council task force to secure the beacon." He paused. "We should have assigned Saren to the case."

Kaidan could see angry veins protruding from Udina's forehead as he seethed in rage.

"So where do we go from here?" Anderson muttered through clenched teeth, similarly struggling to restrain himself.

"What kind of fines can we expect on our assets?" Udina rephrased.

Tevos shook her head. "We do not seek to punish you for the loss of the beacon; no one could have predicted the geth's involvement. Also, in light of the destruction of one of your colonies, we understand that the Alliance must rebuild. We would like to extend our sympathies. In the meantime, your lack of success in the hearing consolidates the fact that we have all set our expectations too high. With or without Nihlus Kryik's assessment, I am afraid that the Council is not prepared to accept a human into the Spectres at this time."

"What?" Udina spluttered. "Forget about Shepard – what about Alenko?"

Tevos raised a hand to signal for his silence. "I am sorry, Ambassador; we do not blame the actions of either candidate. The fact is that humanity is not ready for the burden of responsibility that Spectrehood bestows."

Realising that his failure was complete, Anderson squeezed his temples and sighed. "Is that your final decision?"

"It is," Sparatus nodded. To his credit, he sounded pragmatic rather than smug.

"However," Tevos chimed in, hoping to console the captain's wounded self-esteem; "I do not doubt that one day humanity's intractable persistence will be rewarded." Her words were not spoken as an insult; in fact she was even smiling slightly (a rare occurrence by her standards). "Keep persevering, Captain."

Anderson looked up. At first he thought that the asari was mocking him and his species' obstinacy compared with hers – she must've found his futile tenacity amusing in some way. But then he saw that she looked genuinely earnest; perhaps certain aspects of humanity were to be admired if they were showcased correctly. "I will," he resolved. _You can count on that._ "You wanted evidence linking Saren to the geth? We'll get it for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to everyone who made it to the end of this chapter - I know it was a long one and now you deserve a drink or cookie (depending on age!) on me.


End file.
